


Crown of Straw, Sword of Gold

by opheliabloo



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: ARCTIC EMPIRE, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, King!George, M/M, Medieval AU, Miscommunication, Romantic Tension, dadschlatt appears in this, knight!dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 71,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28240389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliabloo/pseuds/opheliabloo
Summary: It was an odd feeling, to be around someone you neither liked nor were liked by nearly twenty-four hours a day, but George had grown used to it.When his kingdom is invaded and his life thrown into chaos, King George begins to realize how hard it is to maintain enemyship with the man who keeps saving his life.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dream/GeorgeNotFound, Sleepyboisinc - Relationship
Comments: 465
Kudos: 971





	1. Prologue

_The boy did not know how long he had been running, but he knew he could not stop now. _

_ The sounds of the king’s horses behind them pounded in the boy’s ears, becoming a garbled roar that sounded like a massive wave was cresting behind him, ready to swallow him whole. But the boy was nimble, and the boy was smart. He dove to the side, scraping the bottoms of his feet on the hardened frost that sat in a thick blanket upon the grass, then shot back in the direction from whence he’d come. The king’s horses spooked and squealed, buying the boy precious seconds as the knights fought to regain control of their mounts. One of them, a well-dressed man upon a hulking black monster of an animal, raised his arm and shot his crossbow. The boy ducked, feeling an arrow graze his cheek and leave it stinging in the biting night air. His lungs were full of fire and he tasted blood in his mouth. The forest was thick, unforgiving to even the most experienced of woodspeople, and the boy knew that he could not match the stamina of a dozen massive horses.  _

_ So he did the one thing horses could not: climb.  _

_ Two more arrows sliced their ways up his back as he fought his way through the tangled branches, leaving two open wounds in their wake that dribbled warm blood down his skin. The boy’s breath came out in clouds above him. He reached for another branch only to have the tree shake violently, nearly sending him crashing to the ground.  _

_ “Again!” Came a booming voice from below. The man on the black horse stared up at him with thunderous eyes. The boy felt fear in his chest.  _ Boom _. The tree shook once more, creaking, and the boy’s grip on the damp bark loosened. He tried to regain his hold but his freezing hands were stiff and the creeping tendrils of exhaustion had begun their slow descent down his arms and into his fingers. Boom . The tree careened sideways. The boy felt himself fall into open air. _

_ He hit the ground with enough force to knock him out cold.  _

_ When he woke, he was significantly warmer. His head hurt like it had never hurt before, and he had several more bruises and scrapes along his arms and legs that he did not remember getting.  _

_ Suddenly realizing where he was, the boy scrambled onto all fours and backed himself into one of the cell’s corners. A massive figure stood before him on the other side of the bars, holding the single torch that flooded the room with flickering orange light.  _

_ “Can you speak?” The man asked.  _

_ The boy did not answer. He  _ could _ speak, in fact; it had been years since his mother had taught him the complicated tongue of the kingdoms, but he remembered it nonetheless. He bared his teeth and growled.  _

_ “I believe you can, boy.” The man’s voice was deep, eerily calm. The boy noticed an ornate sword hanging at his side. “If you had a head upon your shoulders, you’d answer to your king.”  _

_ “Not my king.” The boy’s voice was hoarse from disuse.  _

_ The king let out a cold, barking laugh. “Not your king? You’re a sharp little fellow.”  _

_ The boy flattened himself against the floor, his scabs opening with sharp pricks of pain and oozing blood.  _

_ “I have never seen anyone run as fast as you ran back there,” The king said. He began to pace up and down the length of the small room, hands folded in front of him. “And my soldiers tell me you’re quite the nasty little bastard with a sword. Are you trained?”  _

_ The boy shook his head. Fighting had always been something that came to him naturally; having to fight off animals and other street urchins for scraps of food had made him strong, nearly unbeatable against the other children when he had a weapon.  _

_ “You’ve caused far too much trouble for me to release you. I’ve gotten many complaints about you causing trouble.”  _

_ The king smiled, but his eyes were cold and glass-like. “I’m going to give you a proposition. In exchange for your life, you will indebt yourself to me and become a knight in my army. I believe that with some proper training, you could become a valuable asset.”  _

_ The boy spit on the ground before the king’s feet. There was ice in the pit of his chest. _

_ The king narrowed his glittering eyes. “Should you refuse my offer, you will promptly be executed.”  _

Death or a life of servitude. What good options , _thought the boy bitterly._ I’d sooner kill myself than serve him. 

_ “You will be fed, clothed, given a place to sleep,” the king continued. “There are boys your age being trained as you would be. You could have friends. A purpose to serve a greater cause.”  _

_ Friends. The boy had never had a friend before. On the streets, friends were a liability.  _

_ “I suggest you give me an answer before I revoke my offer entirely. This is not generosity you have earned, boy.”  _

_ “Fine.” The boy hissed. He just wanted to be out of his cell. He’d find a way to escape; he was sure of it. For now, he’d placate the king and save his own hide while he concocted a plan.  _

_ The wry, toothless smile the king gave him sent a wave of fear down the boy’s spine. _

_ ~ _

_ “This is George. Crown prince of the SMP kingdom.”  _

_ The boy stared at the prince on the throne, earning himself a curled lip. “You’re supposed to bow,” said the prince coldly. _

_ The boy bent himself over at the waist, smiling toothily. The prince leaned over to his father and hissed something in his ear. The king’s face soured with exasperation.  _

_ “... the best of all the training knights...” the boy only heard snippets of the king’s whispered reply. “...you don’t have to  _ like _him; he’s not a lord-in-waiting...”_

_ The boy held down his smirk. Never in his life had he seen someone he liked less than the crown prince of the Sola-Manticoli-Polar kingdom (Sola-Manticoli-Polar? What a stupid name). The prince couldn’t have been much older than he was, and the boy could tell already that he towered over his lithe, wiry frame. On the streets, the boy would have eaten the sour-faced prince for lunch.  _

_ Seemingly annoyed by his son’s rising aggression, the king waved his hand in the air to shut the prince up (oh, what the boy would have given to have  _ that _ kind of power over that little sod!) and focused his attention back on the boy. “You. What is your name again?”  _

_ “Dream,” he said proudly. His friend Sapnap had given it to him because he could knock the other boys out cold with his punches. It was the most badass name ever. _

_ “That’s a stupid name,” the prince piped in, fiddling with his crown. “Are you a warlock or something?”  _

_ “George,” the king warned. Dream hoped he would get to see him kick his son’s ass. “I’d like Dream to be your personal bodyguard. There is nobody better-suited for keeping you safe.”  _

_ “No!” They shouted in unison. _

_ The king looked like he wanted to slap them both. “Dream has been here for nearly six months,” he continued, keeping his calm. “His skills are far above the other trainees; I feel like I can trust him with your safety.”  _

_ George sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “He’s a street boy. He’ll probably steal my shit.”  _

_ “Language, George.” The king tightened his jaw. “I did not bring you two here to discuss this. My decision is final, and if either of you sabotage or undermine my authority, then you will be subject to serious punishment. Approach, Dream.”  _

_ Dream took a couple reluctant steps forward. As he neared, George shrunk into himself, frowning petulantly. “He is  not kissing my hand,” he mumbled.  _

_ The king rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t have to. Bow again, Dream, and this can be over soon.”  _

_ Dream bowed again. He ached to be back out in the training yard with the other boys. Sapnap would laugh until he pissed himself when he found out the shit position he was in. _

_ “You will accompany George whenever he leaves the castle premises, as well as to and from any royal meetings that take place. As a prince, there aren’t many he needs to attend, but they will be nearly weekly when he becomes king.” The king rubbed his hands together. “You shall also be posted outside his room at night whenever he or I ask.”  _

_ George put his face in his hands. “I do not need a bodyguard!”  _

_ “I had one when I was your age! He’s saved my life many times.” The king gestured towards Dream with an open hand. “Even to this day he is a very good friend of mine.”  _

_ George rolled his eyes. “Sure. Can we be done now, please?”  _

_ The king nodded. “You’re free to leave, Dream. I shall call you when I need you.”  _

_ Dream could barely stop himself from running out of the castle doors. Sapnap waited for him in the training yard, eyebrows raised. “Dude, the others told me you’d been summoned by the king! Are you being executed or something?”  _

_ Dream sat up against the old fighting dummy and pressed his eyes into his knees. “I wish. I’m the prince’s personal bodyguard now.”  _

_ Sapnap cackled. “Dude! That’s awesome! I bet the perks will be amazing. You can see so many royal ladies.”  _

_ “Are you kidding?” Dream said. “I hate this! The prince is awful!”  _

_ Sapnap tapped him on the shoulder with his sword. “You’ve met him once; I’m sure he’ll be fine. All you have to do is make sure he doesn’t die.” _

_ “Fine.” Dream did not feel convinced. He rose to his feet and caught his wooden sword as Sapnap tossed it to him. “If I have to make a daring escape to get out of this place, you’re coming with me.”  _

_ Sapnap grinned. “Deal.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO IS BACK BABIES 
> 
> idk what happened to the first line but oh well lmao
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this fic! I’m excited for you all to see what kind of pain I will inflict >:)
> 
> -Ophelia


	2. Young Princes

“That is _so_ not true!” 

Tommy nodded enthusiastically. “It is! I swear!” 

“Dream can’t breathe fire, Tommy. That’s just a legend.” Tubbo dragged a small piece of cloth back and forth over his horns, stopping only to put a drop of oil on the rag. “My dad says that the old king thought he was a really good fighter, and that’s why he hired him to protect King George.” 

Tommy flopped back on the ornate couch and pretend to breathe fire. “People say that Dream breathed fire at the foot of the king as an act of defiance when he was about to be executed, and the king was so impressed with his boldness that he hired him to protect his only son. That is so much cooler than just ‘being a good fighter’.” 

Tubbo rolled his eyes and fixed the collar of his suit. “Do I look okay? Are my horns shiny?” 

“Blindingly so. Do I have any loose feathers?” Tommy sat up and turned his back to his friend, stretching out his wings as far as he could. 

“Nope! You look great!” Tubbo replied with a smile. “Our first royal meeting. I think I’m going to shit myself.” 

Tommy straightened the small crown on his head. “My brother says they’re boring. I don’t even know why I’m going! I’m not going to be king until my dad and both my brothers die. Which is hopefully never.” 

Tubbo had no crown, only fine chains of gold that hung from his horns. Tommy though they made him look like a willow tree. “I’m king once my dad dies. I hope it’s not for a long time. Being king sounds stressful.” 

“Could to imagine becoming king at nineteen? Poor George.” The door to their small waiting room opened, revealing one of the Antarctic Empire guards. He motioned for them with a wave of his hand. Buzzing excitedly, they were led down the long hall and to a room from which Tommy could hear the muffled sounds of voices from yards away.  _It must be an important meeting_ , Tommy thought.  _They’re not usually this loud._

The guard pushed the doors open, and the room fell silent. It was a large room, done up in all the whites and blues of the Antarctic Empire (the best kingdom in the world, in Tommy’s humble opinion), with an ornate circular table sat in the middle. The three seats at the table were already filled, the largest of which by Tommy father, King Phil. He wasn’t Tommy’s biological father, but people wouldn’t know the difference unless they were told. Tubbo often said that he looked like a mini version of his dad with different wings. 

Tubbo’s father Schlatt sat in the next chair, looking rather miffed. He was dressed in a simple suit, his massive ram’s horns meticulously taken care of and draped in shining golden chains. Though he wouldn’t say it to Tubbo, Tommy found the kingdom of Manburg to be quite boring. Everything about them seemed so dark and plain. Besides Tubbo, of course. Tubbo was awesome. He also happened to be Tommy’s best friend, which was also awesome. 

In the third chair, looking so out of place between the two massive kings, sat King George. King George may have been an adult in the technical sense, but between Phil and Schlatt, he looked like a child. He was well-dressed, seemingly calm, his hands folded neatly in front of him. There was an ease about him that had always put Tommy off, as if he knew something they did not. Maybe he was just overcompensating for being so young. Tommy really didn’t know.

Phil, upon seeing them, gave them a warm smile. His wing — a muscular albatross wing — stretched out and pointed them towards the small chairs that lined the back wall of the room. Tommy’s brothers sat in two of them, dutifully straight-backed but obviously bored. Only one other seat was occupied — the one sat directly behind King George.

If there was anyone on the planet that Tommy believed could breathe fire, it was Dream. King George’s monstrous lapdog towered over almost everyone in the room, safe for Wilbur, and was so well-built that Tommy would bet money on him being able to snap any of them in half with a single twist. Like the terrifying cherry on top of a terrifying sundae, Dream constantly wore a white porcelain mask emblazoned with a creepy smiley face that seemed better-suited to a serial killer than a royal guard. According to the legends, he’d worn it for so long that even George did not know what he looked like. 

“Dude,” Tommy whispered in Tubbo’s ear as they took their seats. “You think there’s something wrong with his face and that’s why he wears that mask?” 

Tubbo stifled a giggle. “No, idiot. Dream apparently does undercover work and shit. He has to wear it so nobody knows what he looks like.” 

Dream turned his head and stared at them. Silently, he brought up a finger to the mouth of his mask and shushed them. Tommy wondered how he could see out of it. Maybe it was enchanted? 

Schlatt cleared his throat. “Let’s return to business now that the boys are here.” 

“I agree,” said Phil with nod. “George, you were saying—“ 

“Absolutely not, Schlatt,” George cut in. “That’s what I was saying.” 

Schlatt frowned. “I have reason to believe that the Eretian kingdom is readying their forces for an attack on the border between your kingdom and mine. We should be readying our forces!” 

“I will not have my subjects thrown into a panic over a threat of which you have no proof,” George replied smoothly. 

“King Eret has been after your kingdom ever since your father passed away. He knows you are a weak link. If we don’t do something now, your whole kingdom is in grave danger.” 

Tommy leaned in to Tubbo and whispered, “Was the kingdom named after him or was he named after the kingdom?” 

“Kingdom’s named after him,” Tubbo replied quietly. “It’s their tradition to rename the kingdom after the current king. It’s super confusing.” 

Techno poked Tommy’s leg. “Quiet,” he hissed. Tommy leaned back in his chair and forced back a sigh. 

“I appreciate the concern, Schlatt, but I have no reason to aggravate the Eretian kingdom by sending a bunch of soldiers down to the border out of nowhere. I’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious.” George waved his hand dismissively. “And if I get assassinated, I give you permission to contact me by seance to tell me ‘I told you so’.”

Schlatt rolled his eyes, but Phil couldn’t hold back the low chuckle that rumbled in his throat. “Alright, enough of that, then. Let’s continue on.”

~

The rest of the meeting was much duller without the exciting talk of assassination and incoming invasions. If he were being honest, Tommy barely remembered a thing his father and his fellow kings had spoken about past the topic of the Eretians. Even Tubbo looked a little bleary-eyed by the time the kings finally rose from their seats and shook hands. Roused from his eerie stillness by George’s movement, Dream rose from his seat and glided to George’s side, acknowledging nobody except Phil, to whom he gave the smallest of nods. The twin axes tied to Dream’s back gleamed in the sunlight. 

“Dream and George apparently can’t stand each other,” Tubbo whispered excitedly as he gathered his things. “My dad says he hears them argue all the time whenever he goes to visit the SMP kingdom. Isn’t that weird?”

Tommy watched Dream’s back as he followed behind King George out of the room and disappeared. “I feel like I’d get tired of anyone who I spent nearly twenty-four hours a day with, too.” 

“Even me?” Tubbo stuck his lip out, earning a punch to the gut that left him giggling.

“Especially you!” Tommy scoffed. “Last time we had a sleepover you head-butted me in your sleep and knocked me off the bed. I’d probably strangle you if I ever had to spend all day every day with you.” Tommy kicked at a dozing Wilbur’s ankle until he jerked awake, mumbling. “Let’s go find Ranboo.” 

“I have to go home!” Tubbo pouted. 

“Ask your dad to stay here for another night, then!” 

“You just said you would strangle me if you spent more time with me!”

“I changed my mind and now I want a sleepover.” Tommy pushed his friend in his father’s direction. “Go ask before he gets grumpy over George.” 

Wilbur stretched out his back, groaning. His speckled grey wings were frazzled from being tucked behind him for so long. “How was your first royal meeting, little man?” 

“Boring,” Tommy said. 

Wilbur chuckled. “Hopefully, you’ll never have to be actually in one. Techno’s not so lucky.” 

Techno had moved to their father’s side in the moments they’d been conversing and stood with his back to them, gesturing in the direction of the door. Knowing he would one day be king, Techno took all the royal meetings and princely lessons annoyingly seriously. He modeled himself after their father, with the strong posture and seemingly endless knowledge fit for a king. Had it not been for the bright pink hair that sat neatly braided down Techno’s back or his inky falcon’s wings, he would have looked like Phil’s clone even more than Tommy did.

“Techno probably loves them,” Tommy laughed. “You know how gung-ho he is about being the next king.” 

Wilbur scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I hear about it like twice a minute. I cannot believe that he doesn’t get bored of all this shit.” 

Tubbo came running back, eyes shining. “My dad said I can stay!” 

Tommy whooped. “Cool! Let’s go find Ranboo.”

He ripped off his fancy cape, stuffed it into Wilbur’s hands before he could protest, and practically bounded out of the meeting room with Tubbo following at his heels. The halls of the Antarctic Empire’s palace had high ceilings and long rectangular windows that let the sunlight come in in thick golden rays. Tommy opened his wings and glided ahead, doing loops in the air as Tubbo ran behind him. Out they went into the small courtyard, Tommy’s arms prickling from the cold, and down the staircase that led to the frosty training field below. Tommy landed with a huff, face flushed. “Ranboo!” He yelled. 

Tubbo sprinted up, heaving. “Dude! You know can’t keep up when you fly,” he whined. 

Tommy did a quick once-over of the training field. It was empty. “Ranboo’s not here.” 

“Maybe he’s in the kitchen?” Tubbo wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and began pulling the now-tangled threads of gold from his horns. “Shit. My dad’s gonna kill me if I don’t untangle these.” 

“Ranboo!” Tommy called. The air next to him whined loudly, then a presence appeared before him with a burst of purple particles. 

“Tommy!” Ranboo grinned. He noticed Tubbo behind him, still struggling with the spiderweb of gold on his horns, and jumped with excitement. “Tubbo!” 

Ranboo was an odd character, to say the least. Being a rare enderman-human hybrid, there were many characteristics of his that took a while to get used to. Being able to teleport seemed to be the  _ least _ intriguing part of Tommy’s rather interesting friend. His skin tone split him down the middle, painting one side of him jet black and the other side a milky white. His ears stuck out sideways like Tubbo’s (Tommy had never understood why he had lamb’s ears; endermen don’t even  _ have _ ears at all!) and his eyes were a jarring mix of red and green that hurt Tommy’s head if he looked at them for too long.

He was also one of the nicest people Tommy had ever met in his life, so all of the aforementioned characteristics simply added to his charm. 

Ranboo wrapped his arms around Tubbo and lifted him straight off the ground. “I’m so happy to see you guys!” He exclaimed. “My morning was  so boring. None of the other guards would spar with me!” 

“Tell us about it!” Tommy replied. “We had to go to our first royal meeting and it was horrible. I hope I’m never king.”

Tubbo squirmed his way out of Ranboo’s grip and rubbed at the sore spot on his ribs. “We got to see Dream, though. So that was cool.” 

“The dude is massive!” Tommy flexed his muscles and posed. “I’m pretty sure he could beat me in a fight.” 

Ranboo’s mismatched eyes shone with excitement. “That’s  so cool!” 

A creaking sound from behind them broke their bubble of childish excitement. Dream walked into the courtyard, barely registering them if at all, and darted his way up the staircase that led back into the palace. 

Ranboo was gone in a flurry of purple sparks before Tommy could stop him. In what seemed like a split second, Dream shouted in surprise, unsheathed an axe, and swung it into the wooden pole mere inches from Ranboo’s face. 

“Dude!” Tommy sprinted up the staircase and rushed to his friend’s side as Dream took a step back and rubbed at his mask with his hand. Ranboo wasn’t hurt, thankfully, but his eyes were the size of dinner plates and his mouth had dropped open in shock. Tommy turned to Dream and threw his hands up. “What’s the matter with you, man?” 

“Don’t fucking startle people like that!” Dream ripped his axe from the splintering pole and sheathed it again with a white-knuckled hand. “I could have killed you!” 

Ranboo mumbled something unintelligible. Tommy gently pushed him behind him. “Apologize!” He stuck a finger in Dream’s face.“My friend only wanted to say hi!”

Dream’s freaky mask may have hid his facial expressions, but his body visibly stiffened. “Your friend nearly scared the shit out of me. People aren’t expecting someone to just teleport right in front of them.” 

Ranboo looked down in embarrassment, digging his toe in the dirt. Tubbo stood at the bottom of the staircase with wide eyes.  _ You okay? _ He mouthed.

_Yeah_ ,  Tommy mouthed back. He turned back to Dream, who crossed his arms. “I said to apologize. I’m a prince, you know.” 

“I work for King George, not you,” Dream said with an exasperated sigh. “Go on, now. I have to go find something of the king’s.” 

Tommy scowled. “Apologize!” 

“What the hell are you doing?”

Tommy whirled around and heard Dream’s breath catch from behind him. King George stood at the other end of the courtyard, holding a pair of thick goggles in his hand. Without his long, ornate cape, he looked rather tiny. Nevertheless, his thunderous expressionseemed to put Dream on immediate edge.

“Your Highness,” Dream said quickly. “I got distracted by—“ 

“Fighting with children, are we?” King George’s tone dripped with annoyance. “One of the guards found my glasses. Let’s get going.” 

Dream nodded robotically. “Yes, your Highness.” 

He darted back down the staircase, turning only to flip them off when he was sure George would not see, and disappeared around the corner. Ranboo let out a loud breath. “Holy crap. I thought I was a goner.” 

Tubbo jogged up to meet them, stuffing the remainders of his golden threads into his pocket. “Yeah, man. Maybe cut back on the teleporting. Especially around axe-wielding dickhead bodyguards who can definitely breathe fire.” 

They broke out into a fit of giggles, evaporating the tension left in the air. Tommy looked at the space where Dream stood moments before and stuck his tongue out. 

“I’m going to tell my dad that he axed our doorway. I hope George kicks his ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you noticed the spacing between the prologue and this chapter is different no you didn’t 
> 
> I have a tumblr now! Go follow me @opheliabloo :D 
> 
> I’m super excited that people seem to be liking this premise! I hope it continues to make you guys happy :) 
> 
> -Ophelia


	3. The Ride Home

George leaned his head on the window of the carriage and closed his eyes. “Aether above, that was fucking boring.” 

Across from him, Dream sat motionless, face turned to the window. He merely grunted in response to George’s remark. George rolled his eyes. “Most of that stuff could have been figured out over letters. I don’t know why Schlatt insisted we meet in person. Now I have to pay extra to get nether-travelled back.” 

“Kingly duties, your highness,” Dream mumbled. “They’re not always interesting.” 

A prickle of annoyance ran up George’s spine. Contrary to what most believed, Dream and George were not friends. There was, actually, quite a bit of distaste between them. George himself had never wanted a bodyguard, but Dream had been thrust into his lap as a teenager and now he wasn’t quite sure how to get rid of him. With the rising political climate concerning his neighbouring kings, he couldn’t really afford to lose his 24/7 protection, either. Dream was sullen, sharp and crass, but he was at least good at his job. If he could hold a damn conversation without being an ass, George could have probably tolerated him. 

It was quite an odd feeling, to be around someone whom you neither like nor are liked by nearly twenty-four hours a day, but George had grown used to it. 

“No need to be rude,” he replied with frown. “If there’s anyone I should be able to rant to, it’s you.” 

“You have lords-in-waiting for your gossip. I’m just here to make sure you don’t die.” 

“I—“ George crossed his arms. “I’m the king, and I can gossip to whoever I want.”

“Yes, your highness.” 

George scowled and closed his eyes, hoping to shave a couple of hours off their long journey home by taking a nap.If there was anything that put him in the mood to sleep, it was a long royal meeting. 

He felt Dream’s eyes on him, boring into the skin of his arms and face, but when he cracked an eye open to investigate, Dream’s masked face was still trained on the passing red forests around them. George picked up his thick goggles and inspected them, mostly out of boredom than anything else. “Care to tell me why you were fighting with the young princes when I sent you to find my goggles?” 

Dream let out a grunt through his nose. “Their little enderman buddy teleported right in front of me and scared the shit out of me. Prince Tommy wanted me to apologize.” 

“And did you?” 

Despite not being able to see his face, George was certain that Dream rolled his eyes. “I didn’t do anything wrong, so I had nothing to apologize for.” 

George frowned. “Can you not put me in a bad light in front of my fellow kings by picking fights with their twelve-year-old children? I’m already fighting enough to be taken seriously as it is.” 

Dream crossed his arms and threw one of his legs over the other. His nonchalance was irritating. “You’re taken plenty seriously, your Highness.” 

“Are you blind behind that mask?” George snapped. “Schlatt thinks I’m a nuisance and King Phil’s fatherly instincts are so out of control that I think he just wants to cuddle me or something.” He pressed his palms into his eyelids and watched swirls of nothingness bloom before his eyes. “Three adopted sons! Can you believe that? Three of them! I don’t even think he’s married!” 

He remembered when a little Tommy had been introduced to him at a solstice ball. Barely six years old, he’d been no taller than Phil’s thigh and stayed pressed up against him the whole time, flying into hysterics if Phil dared to do so much as take him off his hip to get a glass of punch. The next year, he’d been a crackling, squawking ball of energy, his moulting wings leaving cream-coloured feathers everywhere. Dream had never had a fondness for the little Arctic prince, but George had always tolerated him and his antics with a light heart. Phil tried his best to give his children normal childhoods, separated from the pressures of royal life. For that, George both envied and respected them.

George turned onto his side, pressing his face into the plush material of the carriage seat. “If I get one letter from Phil about this, I’ll have your head on a stick.” 

Dream’s only answer was a quiet scoff. “Have a little nap, your Highness. You’re grumpy.” 

_ I’d slap him if I had the energy,  _ George thought to himself.  _ Nearly eight years as my bodyguard and he still hasn’t got an ounce of respect for me.  _

He woke hours later, feeling like his head was full of wool. They were back on the overworld, right on the cusp of the sunset. Dream’s masked face was a saturated yellow in the dimming sunlight. George cracked his sore neck. 

“Shit,” he mumbled, smoothing his ruffled hair. “Could you have not woken me up a little earlier? I feel like shit.” 

Dream opened the carriage door and hopped out, holding it for George as he fixed his cape and stepped out into the warm evening air. “You looked comfortable,” he said. “Plus, last time I dared to wake you from a nap, you nearly ripped my head off.” 

George leaned back and stretched, feeling the bones of his spine click. “If there’s nothing else to do today, I’m going straight to bed. Lead me to my room, please.” 

They walked in silence and in relative isolation. There weren’t many people outside of the castle at sundown, and the couple that were scurried out of sight when they saw them coming. Dream’s axes clinked melodically with every step. He’d walked the same way ever since he was a teenager— leaned slightly forward, arms barely moving at his sides. His strides were so long that George had to tell him repeatedly to slow down over the years. Dream did not seem to understand that having to jog by his bodyguard’s side did not do any favours for George’s standing with his fellow royals. 

Quackity, one of the young lords-in-waiting, stood at George’s bedroom door and waved to them as they approached. George felt himself relax a little. A friend. Though it was technically his job to be George’s friend, the two of them had become quite close over the last couple years. He was one of the only people George knew who could make him laugh so hard he choked.

“Your Highness,” he said, giving a long, exaggerated bow. He and Quackity had been on a first-name basis for years, but it cracked his friend up to call George by his formal title.

Rolling his eyes, George let himself smile nonetheless. “Good evening, Quackity. Have you got news for me?” 

“Nope!” Quackity replied. “I just heard you guys were coming back and I wanted to see if you’d like some evening company.”

Dream perked in surprise, but said nothing. Quackity noticed the tension and bit his lips to keep from laughing. 

“I’d love some,” George said calmly. “Dream, you’re free for the evening. Come back when the sun has set.” 

Dream bowed, then walked briskly until he was out of sight. Face red, Quackity pushed open the doors to George’s room and practically fell in, laughing. “Oh, gods! He definitely thinks you’re banging me! Evening company!” He burst into a fit of shrill cackles. “I could have worded that so much better!”

George removed his cape and crown and set them on the small couch by the door. “Aether almighty,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “I don’t care how many years I’m stuck with that guy; he is never knowing about my sex life. I’ll risk assassination rather than have him standing outside my door as I’m getting some action.” 

Quackity flopped down onto one of the plush chairs by the unlit fireplace, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “If you’d like, I can ruffle up my hair and button my shirt all wrong when he comes back. That’ll make him squirm.” 

“I’d love to make him squirm after the shit he pulled today with Prince Tommy. He pulled an axe on a twelve-year-old just for startling him!”George pinched the bridge of his nose. “And he didn’t even apologize to them. Or me, for that matter! It’s like he gets off on being as annoying as he can.” 

“I don’t see why you don’t just fire him if he annoys you so much. Sapnap could probably do as good of a job.” 

“I can’t just fire him,” George waved a hand dismissively. “Light up the fire. It’s chilly in here.” 

Quackity set to work on the fireplace, and George sat his aching body down on the small, embroidered couch. It wasn’t all that comfy — more for show than for use — but he was so exhausted from the day that he could have slept there. A fire bloomed beneath Quackity’s hands, filling George’s nose with the smell of burning wood. It was one of his favourite smells, one that filled him with calm.

“Why can’t you fire him?” Quackity leaned back on his heels. “You two literally hate each other. Isn’t that a security risk or something?” 

“We don’t  _ hate _ each other,” George corrected. “We’re just don’t get along. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s the best swordsman from here to the Antarctic Empire.” 

“Dream’s still mad about losing Prince Tommy’s birthday duel to Prince Technoblade?” Quackity giggled. 

“He still maintains that he let Technoblade win to make his brother happy, but that’s a fat lie. Dream doesn’t like losing. Certainly not to Technoblade.” George would have killed for a cup of tea, but he didn’t have the energy to send for someone to make it for him. Leaning his head against the carved wooden arms of the couch, he closed his eyes. 

“You know, King Schlatt thinks the Eretian kingdom is going to invade us.” 

Quackity started. “What?” 

“Don’t get nervous; he’s got no proof,” George yawned. “He gets these crazy hunches sometimes. I think he’s paranoid.” 

“Yikes.” Quackity sat down on the love seat across from him, arms folded across his chest. “That’s scary. I’ve heard you mention King Eret once or twice. He’s the young one, right?”

George nodded. “Yeah. He’s only a couple of years older than me. I think he’s Technoblade’s age.” 

“With the freaky white eyes?”

“Descended straight from Herobrine, says the legends. I think he’s just a little overzealous when it comes to conquering land. He’s...” George paused. “Opportunistic, if you would.” 

“And your dad dying and leaving you an entire kingdom at nineteen is a pretty decent opportunity, man. You’ve only been king for like, two years now.” 

“He could have invaded earlier, when I was new and vulnerable,” said George. “I’m not too worried. All I need is a decent sleep.” 

Quackity softened, but he did not look totally convinced. “Whatever you say, man.” 

Dream returned a couple hours later, mere minutes after the sun had disappeared behind the mountains. He nodded respectfully to Quackity as he left, seemingly ignoring the several buttons he’d left undone down his shirt, and only grunted as he watched Quackity swagger back down the hall. “Have fun?” He asked humourlessly. 

“Lots,” George chuckled. Dream huffed out his noses. Aether Almighty, he really couldn’t take a joke if his life depended on it. “Are you doing night duty again? I could get Sapnap to do it if you need a break.” 

“I’m staying here.” Dream took his usual spot in the seat against the wall, pulling out one of his axes and a sharpening stone. “If there’s any chance we might be invaded by the Eretians, I’m not risking it.” 

“You too?” George ran a hand through his hair. “Why is everyone so paranoid about the Eretians?” 

“It’s my job to be paranoid, your Highness.” The snark in Dream’s voice made George want to punch him. “I kind of have to keep you alive if I want to keep working.” 

“You’re supposed to want to keep me alive because I’m your king, Dream. Not because you want a job.” 

Yes, it was a stupid fight to pick. But George was tired and picking fights with Dream was a good way to blow off some steam. 

“I keep you alive because it’s my job to keep you alive. Happy?” Dream said stiffly. 

“Nearly a decade at my side and you still haven’t got a shred of respect for me,” George continued. “It’s insulting. You know people can tell that you don’t actually like me?” 

Dream turned his head and stared George down with the unsettling, beady eyes of his mask. “Nearly a decade of me keeping your ass safe and you still haven’t thanked me once.” 

George crossed his arms. “I don’t have to thank you. This job was given to you out of the kindness of my father’s heart and you should be thanking  _ him _ until the day you die.” 

Dream dragged the sharpening stone across the blade of is axe, creating a shrill screeching nose that set George’s nerves on fire. “Can you stop that shit?” George snapped.

Dream paused, eerily still for a couple moments. Then, he let out a long, slow breath. “Go to sleep, your Highness.” 

George felt crackles of energy running up and down his spine. Shit. He needed a good argument and Dream was being too much of a jaded bastard to give him what he wanted. 

“You—“ George grabbed the sharpening stone from Dream’s hand and threw it down the hall with all his might. Momentarily satisfied, he whirled back around and stuck a finger in Dream’s face. “Do not tell me what to do, Dream. I am your king.” 

Dream rose to his feet, leaning his axe against the wall. George felt a moment of fear. He’d forgotten how large Dream could look when he wanted to. “Go to sleep, your Highness,” he repeated slowly. There was an edge to his words that doused the fire in George’s veins with ice. 

Dream breezed past him, their shoulders barely touching. George wiped at his forehead and realized he was sweating. “I think I’m getting sick,” he murmured.

Dream returned, sharpening stone tucked protectively in his hand. “You need rest. Go to sleep.” 

Nodding silently, George ambled back into his room and closed the door behind him. Without his irritable energy, he felt gutted and small. He’d actually chucked Dream’s sharpening stone down the hall like a tantruming child. Exhaustion really did a number on him. 

George climbed into bed, sinking beneath the silky sheets until he was buried up to his nose in weight and warmth. 

_ Note to self. Never nap in carriages.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO FUCKING SORRY 
> 
> for those confused I posted the Invasion chapter on Christmas TOTALLY FUCKUNG FORGETTING ABT THIS ONE 
> 
> The invasion chapter as well as the next one will be posted today too as apologies lol 😅
> 
> -Ophelia


	4. Invasion

George woke with a single thought in his sleep-addled mind. 

_ Fuck, I’m thirsty.  _

He moved out of bed, feeling the cool air raise goosebumps along his arms. Gods, he hated the cold. Why was it so cold in his room? 

The night outside his open window was cloudy, starless; George could barely see far enough in front of him to amble to the jug of water on his reading table and pour a glass without knocking it over. He looked to his bedroom door, seeing but a sliver of light along the bottom. He wondered if Dream was still there. It must get boring, standing out there all night. There wasn’t enough gold in the world to make George do that job willingly. 

He spilt some water over his fingers and mumbled in dismay. His tongue felt thick and dry in his mouth. He wiped his hand on his shirt and shivered. Was it always so cold in his room? 

George lifted the glass of water to his lips and had barely taken a single gulp before he realized something with a deep chill in the pit of his stomach. 

_Why was the window to his room open?_

A great force slammed itself into his side, knocking George forward onto his table. His glass of water clattered to the floor and shattered. George tried to scream but a hand slapped itself over his mouth and nose, pressing him downwards until he knelt in the broken glass, scrabbling desperately at nothing. He banged his fists on the walls, the legs of the table,  _ anything  _ to make a noise. Was Dream even out there? 

George’s knees stung. His lungs were on fire. A spot on his back had become a minefield of agony and warmth dripped down the backs of his thighs. The hand on his mouth was unrelenting in his force.  _Am I going to die here?_ George thought wildly. 

He sunk his teeth into the palm of his attacker, buying him enough time to gasp for air as they recoiled in shock. Oxygen flooded George’s frazzled brain and a burst of stars exploded before his eyes. George pushed himself off his knees and careened sideways, blinded by his shock and fear. He hit the wall hard, stunned into stillness by the excruciating pain that exploded in his side. 

“Dream!” He shrieked. A hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head backwards. “Help! Dream!” 

“Get away from him!” 

_ Thunk _ . One of Dream’s axes lodged itself into the wall mere metres from George’s head. “Shit!” A voice shrieked. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, George caught a flash of his attacker as they dove out of the way of a throwing knife. They were female, nimble on two lean satyr’s legs, wearing a two-pronged pirate’s hat. 

“Get the fuck away from him!” 

Dream crouched in his open window, shadowed by a ring of gentle moonlight that made the edges his mask twinkle. He looked like something straight out of the storybooks George’s father read to him while he was a child. 

The attacker froze, scuffing her hooves along the floor. “You can’t beat all of us,” she said. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d escape before you were slaughtered.” 

Dream stepped into the room and unsheathed his axe. “Not without him. Get the fuck out of here.” 

His voice warped into a distant warble. George realized he was shaking. He tried to stand but found he could barely feel his legs. The two figures fighting before him tumbled in and out of a grainy darkness, saying things in voices George could not understand. One reached for him, but George’s hands felt like they were made of ice. He could not reach back.

He tried anyway. 

“George!” 

Someone was slapping him. He lay on his stomach, face pressed against the dewy grass. His whole body hurt like it had never hurt before.

“George!” 

George cracked open an eye. Dream’s unblinking mask stared back at him, oddly jarring against his frightened body language. He had one hand on George’s shoulder. “Thank fuck,” he breathed. 

“What—“ the sound of his own voice sent a wave of nausea through George’s head. Gods, his side felt like it was on fire.

“Schlatt was right,” Dream said. “The Eretians invaded. They sent an assassin to kill you.” 

_ No. No, no no. _ George’s heart dropped. Instinctively, he rose to get up, desperate to return back to his kingdom. Dream pushed him back down to the ground with a stern but gentle hand. “My kingdom,” George wheezed. His bare feet scrabbled in the dirt. “I have to get back—“ 

“Stop.” Dream’s hand seemed impossibly strong. “You’re injured. Stop moving.” 

“My fucking kingdom!” George spat. He managed to shove Dream’s hand off of him but made it no farther than a couple steps before collapsing once more. The air around him had no oxygen; George felt like he was drowning. 

Dream wrapped both arms around him and gently pushed George’s knees in from behind, twisting him back to the ground. George’s side hurt so badly it brought tears to his eyes. “You need to lie still,” Dream said in his ear. George had never heard him talk so gently. “You kind of got a knife to the back, Your Highness. I don’t have more bandages to spare if you bleed through these ones.” 

George went limp in his arms, shuddering. He was so cold. “What the hell happened?” He whispered. 

“Eretians. Lots of them.” Dream laid him on the cool ground. “They’ve taken over the castle.” 

George lifted his hands to his face and pressed his palms into his eyelids. “Gods, no. Not now. Not now, please.” 

“You’re injured pretty badly and the kingdom’s in hysterics. We need to keep moving outwards before the Eretians start sending patrols to come find us.” 

Dream rose to his feet, scanning the area. They were in a roofed forest, cut off from all moonlight. George could barely make out Dream’s figure. A horse nickered nearby. 

“Come on.” Dream slid his arms beneath George’s back and thighs, heaving him into the air. George squirmed instinctively, sending a wave of pain down his legs. “Dude! I said stop moving!” 

He maneuvered them both onto the horse’s back with surprising ease. “No saddle?” George mumbled. He’d never ridden without one before. 

“I didn’t have much time to spare, your Highness,” Dream said irritably. He was considerably nicer when George was on the ground in agony. “Lean forward, grab onto the horse’s mane, and squeeze your legs. If you fall, you’re getting back up here on your own.” 

George bit his tongue.  _ Don’t bite the hand that just saved your ass, _ he told himself. The horse’s mane smelt of hay and animal fur — a relaxing scent, given their situation. Dream reached over him and grabbed the reins in one hand. “Ready?” 

“Where are we going?” 

Dream kicked the horse into action without replying. The forest passed by them in murky blurs. George’s lips stung in the cold. Dream’s thick cape flapped behind them, whipping the air in loud cracks that echoed in his ears. “Where are we going?” George repeated, practically screaming against the wind and the clanking of Dream’s armour. 

“To an old friend!” Dream bowed low, pressing George to the horse’s neck as they took a sharp turn. George’s thighs were shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright.  _ There was a reason I never liked riding horses, _ he thought miserably. 

“You suck at this!” Dream yelled, wrapping an arm around George’s midsection. “Have you never ridden a horse before?” 

“Not like this!” 

The horse made another sharp turn, whinnying shrilly. They rode for what felt like hours. The plates of Dream’s armour dug into George’s back and his breath on the back of his neck was suffocating. George’s mind wandered to his castle and those inside of it. Quackity. The cooks. The nursemaids who’d practically raised him when his mother died. He’d abandoned them all. It would be his fault and his fault alone if the Eretians harmed them.

The self-hate in George’s gut was colder and sharper than any gust of wind or blade. 

_ Why’d you have to die, Dad? Why’d you have to leave me in charge of a kingdom when I’m barely old enough to know who I am?  _

The horse came to a quick halt. “Get off,” Dream ordered. “We’re here.” 

“Huh?” George’s head was swimming. Dream slipped off the horse’s back and reached up a hand to him, beckoning impatiently. The gravel beneath his bare feet stung as he hopped off, making him wince. “Where are we?” 

Dream didn’t answer. He’d already walked several feet ahead with the horse in tow, into a small clearing surrounded by thick forest. From what George could see, it was completely empty. “Bad! Bad, it’s me! Dream!” 

“What the hell are you doing?” George walked into the moonlight, avoiding several massive weeds in the grass.

Dream wagged a hand in his direction. “Bad! Bad!” He screamed into the open air. “It’s me, buddy!”

“Have you lost your fucking—“ the words died abruptly on George’s tongue. The air in the small clearing was rippling.  _ Rippling _ , like disturbed pond water. Dream pumped a fist in the air, whooping triumphantly. A strong shiver ran up George’s back, nearly sending him to the ground. He winced, murmuring in discomfort, then felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Hello?” 

The hand was not Dream’s. It belonged to a man ( was it a man? George wasn’t even sure) dressed in all black, sporting a hood that masked most of his inky face. He smiled widely, displaying sharp teeth. “Hi! I’m Bad.” 

“A demon.” The words passed his tongue before George could stop them. Dream cleared his throat aggressively.

“ _ Half _ -demon,” Bad corrected gently. “Have I ever met you before? You’re not familiar to me.” 

It was then that George realized that the environment around him had changed. The small clearing had disappeared; what stood around him was a quaint cottage, complete with a farm, animal pen and a massive outdoor fire pit that housed a large cauldron. Several skeleton horses clattered happily in the stable attached to the side of the house. “Huh?” Was all he managed to say.

Bad giggled. “You’re definitely new. One of Dream’s friends?” 

“He’s the king of the SMP kingdom, Bad.” Dream breezed past them, beckoning them both into the house. The horse was tied to one of the farm posts, munching away at a pile of carrots he’d ripped from the garden. “We need help.” 

“It seems you do!” Bad replied. “The poor king is in his pyjamas!”

“You can call me George,” George said quietly. He collapsed onto the nearest chair he found and inspected his bashed up knees. “No royal titles needed here.” 

“Well, let me get you some—“ Bad cut off sharply, distracted by Dream aggressively closing his curtains. “Dream? You don’t have to do that. Nobody can see this but us.” 

“The Eretians invaded, Bad! There are probably assassins combing these woods!” Dream said. “I can’t take any chances.” 

Bad nodded understandingly. For a half-demon, he seemed incredibly kind. “Well, I’ll get you two some more clothes. You’ll freeze to death in those jammies, George.” 

“Get him a health potion too,” Dream called. “He got a knife to the back.”

“He got a what?” Bad jolted, staring at them with wide white eyes. “Skeppy! Skeppy! Do we have glistering melons?” 

He darted from the room, leaving George and Dream alone. Dream sat down on the small, dusty couch and cracked his neck. 

“Thank you.” 

Dream stopped. “What?” 

George pulled his feet up and wrapped his arms around his knees. “You saved my life. Thank you.” 

It took a moment for Dream to say anything. “Oh, I—“ he pulled his hood down and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I thought you didn’t do the whole thanking thing.” 

“I can’t just not do it. You’re the only reason I’m alive right now.” George chuckled humourlessly. “Nearly a decade in and now you’ve finally got some action. You get to be the bodyguard of an exiled king. Lucky you.”

“We’ll get you back,” said Dream sternly. “I promise.” 

“You never struck me as an optimist.” The stab wound in George’s back pulsated painfully. He just wanted to sleep. “They’ve already taken control, Dream. We’ve got no chance.” 

Bad returned with a health potion and a stack of bandages, fluttering about like a mother hen. A blue robot-like creature poked its head around the corner, looked at George with wide eyes, then scurried upstairs. 

“That’s Skeppy,” said Bad. “He’s my friend. I made him.” 

Dream perked up excitedly. “You finished Skeppy?” 

“I did!” Bad smiled. “George, take off your shirt for me, please.” 

George did as he was told, wincing as Bad poured a cupful of healing potion onto his wound. “I thought I was supposed to drink that!” He mumbled. 

“You are, yes.” Bad handed him the vial and motioned for him to drink it. “But pouring a cupful onto a flesh wound is a good way to stave off infections. Hurts like a muffinhead, but it works pretty darn well.” 

He re-busied himself with his work, wrapping George’s torso with the bandages. He felt miles better than he did before, but the pit in his chest remained. He’d been invaded. Practically exiled. He had no one. 

“George?” 

George turned his head. Dream pointed a finger at his vial. “Drink up, your Highness.”

“I hate these potions,” George mumbled, knocking a large gulp back and grimacing at the strong taste. “They taste like shit. I hate melons.” 

“You are so spoiled,” Dream said. Bad tutted him gently. 

George took another swig, feeling energy return to his bones. For good measure, he rolled up his pant legs and doused his knees with the last little bit. It stung so badly it made his eyes water, but George wouldn’t risk an infection. 

“I have clothes for you, George.” Bad sat back on his heels. “Want me to pack food for you guys? Where are you going?” 

“The Antarctic Empire,” Dream said. 

“The Antarctic Empire?” George spluttered. “Why there?” 

“Why anywhere else? We can reach it in less than a week and King Phil will help us, I’m sure of it.” Dream adjusted his mask as it slid up his face with the movement of his mouth. “We’ll have to avoid the main highway in case of assassins, but the forest isn’t too dangerous when you’ve got a sword and a lantern on you.” 

“Have you lost your mind? We’ll be slaughtered before we get there!” George cried. 

“Phil is our only hope! Would you rather go to Schlatt?” 

“No, I—“ George rubbed his temples. “Dream, you’re setting us up on a suicide mission. We don’t know what the hell is in that forest!”

“It is pretty dangerous, Dream,” said Bad with a small frown. “You’d be better off fighting assassins than ravager herds and massive spiders.” 

“No,” Dream replied firmly. “We can’t be out in the open. It’s too dangerous.” 

George scoffed. “I don’t even have armour!” 

“Bad can provide some!” 

Bad sighed, rising to his feet. “I never was able to sway that thick head of yours once it latched onto an idea. I’ll give you the best armour I have. Skeppy’s great at mining, so it’ll be replaced soon enough. No netherite, though.” He wrapped his arms around himself as if chilled by a sudden breeze. “I don’t go into the nether.” 

Dream stepped forward and wrapped Bad in a tight hug. “You are a lifesaver, man,” he said softly. “I promise I’ll bring it all back. I owe you one.” 

Bad rolled his snowy eyes and smiled. “Just be safe. That’s all I ask, okay?” 

“I’m the best knight in this whole area.” Dream pulled back and began unbuttoning his chestplate. “I’ve got this all under control. Now, do you have a shower or bath? My shower plans for tomorrow morning were a little offset and I smell like a dog shat on me.” 

“Down the hall and to the left. Don’t use my good towels!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Tommyinnit voice* SORRY SORRY SORRY 
> 
> this is why I don’t post chaps when I’m drunk


	5. A Good Demon

“King, huh?” 

George leaned his chin in his hand, breathing in the herby smell of the cottage. “Yep. Nearly three years now.” 

Bad passed him a plate of cut-up chorus fruit. “I can’t imagine the pressure.” 

“It’s not horrible, really.” George inspected a piece of chorus fruit and popped it into his mouth. It was sour, tingly on his tongue like a soda or wine. “I’m much better off than some people in my kingdom.” 

“Is this your first assassination attempt?” Said Bad. He sat down across from George, holding a steaming cup of tea between his inky hands. 

George chuckled. “Nope. Second, actually.” 

Skeppy moved into the kitchen, whirring quietly and clicking to himself as if lost in deep thought.  _ What an odd creature, _ George thought to himself.  _He looks like he’s made of diamond._

“Are you going to tell me that story or am I going to have to bully it out of Dream later?” Bad laughed, giving Skeppy a pat as he rolled past.

“Gods, I can barely remember it!” George leaned back in his chair, stretching his sore ribcage. Skeppy let out a series of musical beeps as he disappeared into the living room. “It was well before my dad died; I must have been fifteen or sixteen. A man snuck into the stable and hid in my horse’s stall.” 

The memory brought a wave of uneasiness up George’s back. He took another bite of chorus fruit. “When I came out the next morning for my morning lesson, he was there waiting for me.” 

Bad’s hand closed around his own, grounding and warm. “That sounds awful.” 

George chuckled again, more to stop himself from crying than anything. “The only reason he didn’t catch me completely off guard is because I noticed my horse being more skittish than usual and went to check on her instead of going straight for my saddle.” 

He let out a long breath, forcing the tightness in his chest to relax. “He had a... a little serrated fish knife. Those fuckers cut through flesh like butter.”

“Do you want me to get you a drink?” Bad asked.

“I’m fine, I promise.” George ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I thought I was a goner. The guy gave me a good slashing up the arm and was going straight for my neck when, out of nowhere — Dream!” 

Bad giggled. “Dream!” 

“Dream!” George exclaimed. “Out of nowhere! It was the craziest fucking thing! Bowled the guy right over like he was a damn ravager or something. The guy freaked the hell out and was screaming at the top of his lungs like a ghast.”

Recognition flickered in Bad’s eyes. “Wait. Dream’s told me about this story. That’s when he—“ 

“Got his mask, yeah.” George’s voice weakened. “The guy got at his face pretty badly. Nearly blinded him. My dad thought he’d be too recognizable if people found out what happened, so we kept the whole incident hush-hush and never let anyone see Dream’s scars. He’s worn that mask ever since.” 

“Gods.” Bad looked down into his tea and sighed. “You poor kids. I’d keep you here with me if I could.” 

“You’ve done more than enough,” George smiled. “I can’t thank you enough for the armour and supplies.” 

“Dream and I go way back — farther than you two, actually.” Bad popped a couple pieces of chorus fruit into his mouth. “I was his friend when he was a little forest urchin. Dream kept me alive when the rest of the world wanted me dead.” 

Bad paused, turning his head in the direction of the bathroom down the hall. “You’re lucky to have him as your bodyguard,” he said, voice soft with fondness. “There’s really nobody like him.” 

George looked away, focusing his attention on the herd of cows grazing outside the window. “He’s good at his job; I’ll always give him that.” 

Bad raised an eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t press for more of an answer. Dream came walking into the kitchen, wearing a black tunic and a pair of dark green trousers. “Fucking hell, Bad!” He exclaimed, tightening the straps of his mask. “Potion pockets! Where have these been all my life?”

He pivoted to the side, displaying the large pockets on either side of his hips. “I’m stealing these pants. You’re never seeing them again.” 

Bad laughed. “Take them! I haven’t worn them for years. You look much better in them than I ever did.” 

Dream struck a silly pose, blowing a quick raspberry in Bad’s direction, then reached over George’s shoulder to grab an unceremonious handful of his chorus fruit. “Hey!” George said. “I’m still your king; you have to treat me with respect. Don’t think that just because I don’t have a crown on my head that you can treat me like one of your knight buddies!” 

There was a long moment of silence. Dream froze, dropping a couple pieces of chorus fruit onto the floor. “It’s just fruit, man,” he replied slowly. “Chill.” 

He reached forward and dropped the pieces back onto the table beside George’s plate. Bad grimaced awkwardly. “I can cut up another one if you’d like.” 

“We’re fine,” George answered quickly.  _ Go take a long bath and drown in it,  _ he wanted to say. Leave it to Dream to get on his nerves within five seconds of walking into a room. “Do you mind if I get a couple hours of sleep? I want to be ready if we’re travelling tomorrow.” 

“Of course! There’s a spare bedroom upstairs. It was meant to be Skeppy’s, but I forgot to program a sleep-mode into him,” Bad chuckled, rubbing at one of his horns. “I’ll bring blankets up for whoever is sleeping on the floor.” 

“Don’t bother; I’m not sleeping,” said Dream. He sat down at the small table, pulling George’s plate of chorus fruit to him with a single finger. “The room is all yours, your Highness.” 

“In that case,” George said, rising to his feet. “I think I’ll be off to bed. Thank you for the food, Bad. My kingdom will be in your debt for your kindness.” 

“Make your bed when you wake up and we’ll be even, King George,” Bad replied with a smile. “Sleep well. You know where I am if you need anything.” 

~

George had never slept in a bed that was not his own or his father’s. Never once. 

Bad’s pillows were squishier than his own. The sheets were less silky, the covers less warm, the air somewhat empty without the lingering scent of a fireplace to lull him to sleep. George pulled the blankets up to his nose, wanting nothing more than to disappear into a void of comfort and forget about the hell he’d been thrown into over the last twelve hours. The shock of the situation had long since settled deep into his bones, too deep to cry or anguish over. In fact, George felt rather apathetic. He knew he  _ should _ care, that this was probably the thing he would care the most about in his entire life, but the thought of feeling so much emotion only served to drag him down further into exhaustion. 

George tossed and curled in on himself, feeling sweat bead on the back of his neck though wasn’t even cold. His hands were dry. His healing stab wound ached. Every part of his body screamed  _ this is wrong! This is wrong! This is all wrong!  _

“Go to sleep,” George mumbled aloud, as if his body parts could hear him. Their silent cacophony of discomfort continued, though, and George closed his eyes in defeat. 

At some point, he fell into a restless sleep, and for the first time in years... he dreamt of Dream. A smaller Dream. A younger Dream, being carried out into the yard in the arms of one of the older stablehands, screaming for help as blood gushed from the awful wounds carved into his face. George pressed a hand to the slice on his own arm, feeling it sting. A bloody fish knife lay at his feet, covered in dirt and dust and pieces of hay.

“I can’t see! I can’t see! I can’t see!” Dream’s voice was high, cracking, full of anguish. The stablehand lay his writhing body in the grass and leaned over him, yelling words George could not hear. There were people everywhere — around him, around Dream, around the handcuffed, howling man in the corner.

The eyes of George’s potential assassin were brown, so light they looked yellow. He was missing a tooth on the upper left side of his mouth. 

That was all George remembered of him. Somehow, that was still too much.

“Your Highness?” 

George’s eyes felt like lead. “What?” He mumbled. 

“It’s time to leave. We have to be on our way soon.” 

George forced an eye to open. Dream stood in the doorway of his room, shadowed by the gentle lamplight of the hall. The sun had not yet risen. “What time is it?” George asked blearily.

“Just before dawn. We should get going while it’s still dark.” Dream walked into the room and placed a pile of clothes on his bed. “Get dressed and meet me outside. No complaining.” 

George buried his face in his pillow. “I really don’t like you right now.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” Dream replied flatly. “Be up in five minutes or you’ll have to deal with me being pissy all day.” 

“Go saddle the horse. I need more time.” 

“We’re not taking the horse.” 

George raised himself onto his elbows, staring at Dream with incredulous eyes. “We’re not taking the horse? Are you insane?” 

“Horses are a liability. We need to feed it, give it a place to sleep. Horse shit leaves trails, remember? We can’t be tracked.”

“Holy fuck—“ George fell back into his pillow with a dull  _ thump _ —“I think I could kill you right now. I really could.” 

Dream sighed in annoyance. “I’m trying to keep you alive, not keep you comfortable. It’s time to live rough, your Highness.” 

“Get out of my room,” George said. “Let me get dressed in peace.” 

Dream turned on his heel and left, hands raised defensively. “Five minutes!” He called from down the hall. 

George dressed quickly, feeling the residual aches of his healing wounds permeate every one of his limbs. Dream had given him a simple pair of trousers (decently warm given how thin they looked, but just a little bit too long for George’s legs) along with a white tunic with billowing sleeves. They weren’t as well-made as the clothes he had at home, but he figured not much out here would be up to his prior standards.  _I wish I had my goggles,_ George thought longingly.  _ Everything looks so saturated without them.  _

Dream and Bad were already outside when he finally darted into the yard, rummaging through a sizeable backpack sat on the ground. Bad smiled up at him as he neared, baring two small fangs that poked over the edges of his lips. He had a thick swatch of blue fabric over his knee. “George!” He said happily. The sliver of sunrise that crested the trees made his horns look like they were glowing ever so slightly. “Dream forgot to give you this. It’s probably not king-quality, but it’ll keep you warm.” 

He rose and wrapped the blue fabric around George’s shoulders, fastening it over his sternum with a golden clip.  _A cape!_

“You look good in blue,” Bad smiled. He reached over George’s shoulder, pulling a loose hood over his head. “And it’s got a hood, too! No chilly ears for you.” 

George felt a piece of the cape between two fingers and marvelled at at its weight and softness. “Is this wool?” 

“Yep!” Bad knelt back down across from Dream and helped him stuff the remaining cans of food into the backpack. “It’s a lifesaver at night time.” 

“Alright,” Dream stretched his arms over his head. His own cape was thrown loosely over one shoulder, exposing the stretch of skin across his collarbone where his tunic had come undone. He was tanner than George remembered. “That should do it. Provided we don’t get distracted along the way, this should be more than enough to last us to the Antarctic Empire.” 

“Are you sure?” Bad asked. “I don’t want you guys getting caught in a bad position.” 

“We won’t. I’ll make sure of it.” Dream clicked his fingers in George’s direction. “Ready to go, your Highness?”

George curled his lip. “Don’t snap your fingers at me.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Dream said with poorly-hidden exasperation. He flicked open the compass hung from his belt. “The highway is southwest from here, so we’ll go south for a mile or two and then travel parallel alongside it. Got it?” 

George rubbed at his heavy eyes. “Somewhat. I’ll just follow your lead.” 

They said their quick goodbyes to Bad, who gave them each a quick kiss on the cheek as they left, and were on their way just as the sun became a pinkish ball on the horizon. George wasn’t at all accustomed to walking long distances, but the boots Bad had given him were supple and warm and protected his feet from the puddles of dew. In the morning light, the forest looked quite beautiful. George had never really been in a forest before — not one without a pre-made path or trail way, at least. This one truly seemed  _ wild _ in every sense of the world, and its novelty to George made it all the more exciting. A dashingly red fox scampered between the trees a couple feet away, holding the corpse of a rabbit between its jaws. It froze in its tracks as they passed. George looked into its wide, glassy eyes and chuckled to himself as it skittered away. 

They passed beneath a hulking red mushroom the side of a tree. George reached his hand up and ran his fingers along the rubbery surface. “Whoa,” he said aloud. 

“Don’t touch those,” Dream replied without turning around. “They could give you warts.” 

George scowled. “That’s a myth.” 

“I lived in the words for the first twelve years of my life, your Highness,” said Dream. “I think I know a little more about the wilderness than you do.” 

George wiped his hand on his cape. Dream ducked, narrowly avoiding a jutting branch that George then had to stumble out of the way of. “Really?” George said angrily. “Are you trying to injure me?” 

“Are you trying to be a spoiled brat?” Dream replied under his breath. George gritted his teeth.  _ A week more of this. I think I’d rather have been executed.  _

Not much more was said for the next long while besides a couple more passive-aggressive insults and a half-hearted “Watch out! Tree branch!” From Dream that came a second too late to be actually useful. Gods, George would have killed to have Quackity there with them. He needed to  _ talk _ to someone. Someone that wasn’t Dream. A dead tree could hold a smoother conversation than he could. 

But Quackity was at home, in the castle, along with everyone else in George’s life. George didn’t even know if they were alive. Eret’s soldiers wouldn’t kill innocent people, right? 

Innocent people who had valuable information on him? 

Who’d have maybe seen him leave? 

_ Right?  _

“I need to stop,” George choked out. His legs felt like they would collapse beneath him. The weight of the cape around his neck was unbearable. 

“What now?” Dream said. “We’ve only been walking for a couple hours.” 

George leaned against a tree, fighting off a wave of sudden nausea. “Fuck off, I—“ His breath felt hot in his throat. “Fuck off.”

Dream turned around and froze. “Are you okay?” 

“I think I’m going to puke.” 

He collapsed over a fallen log and vomited bile and half-digested chorus fruit into the dirt.  _ Quackity is dead,  _ his mind screamed at him.  _ Quackity is dead and the maids are dead and the cooks are dead they’re all dead all dead all dead because of yOU BECAUSE OF YOU COWARD YOU— _

There was a canteen being pressed to George’s lips. “Drink,” Dream ordered. George coughed out another mouthful of vomit, leaving his throat burning. “Drink,” Dream repeated. His hand slid itself beneath George’s chest and pulled him backwards until George was sitting on his heels. “Come on, George. Come on.” 

George grabbed the canteen with shaking hands and gulped down a mouthful of sour-tasting water. “Aether almighty!” He gasped. His throat was so tight he could barely speak. “What’s happening to me?”

“I don’t know, but you need to chill.” Dream unbuttoned George’s cape with a deft hand and laid it out on the ground. Then, with surprising tenderness, he guided George onto his side and sat beside him as George’s body shook uncontrollably. 

“Fuck you, I can’t  _ chill _ —“ George gasped in a mouthful of air that seemed to have no oxygen. “I feel like I’m fucking dying.” 

“Breathe, George. Breathe,” Dream said calmly. 

George wanted to throttle him. “Stop being so fucking patronizing!” He spat. 

“I’m not being patronizing!” Dream tugged at his hair in frustration. “You’re having a fucking seizure or something! What the fuck else am I supposed to do?”

George swung an arm up and bashed his palm into Dream’s sternum, making him grunt. “Leave me alone! I can handle myself.” 

His voice died out as another mouthful of bile came forth, wracking his body with shivers. Dream rose to his feet, hands balled at his sides. “Fine! You come to me when you’re ready to go. Aether fucking almighty.” 

He stomped off, leaving George alone.  _ Breathe _ _,_ he thought.  _ Breathe, George, breathe. You’re an adult. You don’t wig out like this anymore.  _

_ Wig out. _ Gods, George hated that phrase.  _ Wig out. _ It’s what his father always used to say when he’d have nightmares or cry because he was so afraid of the horses that it would make him break out into hives.  _ You can’t wig out like this anymore, Georgie,  _ he’d say to him.  _ You have to be big and strong.  _

George exhaled deeply, fighting the tremors in his chest that want to rip sobs from his throat. Then he breathed in as slowly as he could muster.  _ In, out. In, out. _ The tremors passed and faded to nothing.  _ Be strong, George.  _ The nausea lessened and the pressure behind George’s eyes gave way to the gentle ache of exhaustion. Tentatively, he sat up. Dream had left the canteen abandoned by his side, so George took another swig of water to rid the taste of vomit and humiliation from his mouth.  _ I better not have gotten puke on this cape. That would just be adding insult to injury. _

He picked the cape off the ground as he stood on shaky legs, shaking it to rid it of dirt. To his relief, it looked relatively clean. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, George fastened the clip of the cape over his chest and made his way to where Dream sat on a nearby log just out of view, sharpening a small dagger. “Done yet?” Said Dream without looking up at him. 

George felt himself flush. “Yes, thank you. Let’s get going.” 

Dream stood with a small grunt, hefting the backpack at his feet back over his shoulder. “Fantastic. Let’s try not to have any more —“

His words died abruptly. With his mask on, George could not read his facial expressions, but the fear in his body language was palpable. 

“Don’t turn around,” Dream whispered. “Walk to me. Slowly.” 

George’s stomach dropped. He took two hesitant steps forward, hyper-aware of every forest noise. “What’s behind me?” 

Dream held a finger to his mask’s mouth, shushing him quietly. A low growl drifted through the air from behind him. 

“Oh, fuck. Run!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BADBOYHALO POG 
> 
> what did y’all think of Dream’s backstory??? I wonder how he feels abt his mask now 👀👀👀
> 
> I’ve currently got chapters 6,7, and half of 8 prewritten and ready to go once I do some editing! So look forward to those! 
> 
> don’t worry, the story will start picking up soon >:)  
> -OpheliaBloo


	6. Boy King

Gods, George hated running. 

“What the hell is that?” He screamed at Dream, who sprinted between the trees and rocks with enviable agility. 

“A Ravager!” He shrieked. “We need to get to a river or stream! Any large body of water!” 

“Why?” 

Dream took a sharp turn, grabbing George’s hand to keep him from falling behind. His palms were clammy and George had to squeeze hard to keep his grip from slipping. “Why the fuck do you think? It can’t swim!” 

George’s lungs were on fire. Had it not been for the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he would have surely collapsed. He was not built to run. He wasn’t built to do much at all. 

The same could not be said for Dream. Despite having a heavy backpack and a bumbling George to take care of, Dream wove through the trees at incredible speed. “Up ahead!” Dream let go of George’s hand and swung the backpack off his shoulders. There was a pond ahead, surrounded by reeds. “Take off your cape and jump!” 

George’s brain took a moment to register what he’d been told. He fumbled with the clip at his chest, blood roaring in his ears, and had just felt the material fly off his shoulders when the ground beneath his feet fell away and he crashed ass-first into a stagnant pond. In his panic, George opened his mouth to scream and felt his throat flood with murky water, throwing his body into a panic that only subsided when Dream grabbed him by the collar and thrust him upwards to the surface.

“Get the fuck away!” Dream was screaming. His black tunic had pieces of algae stuck to the sleeves. “Yeah, that’s right! Fuck off!” 

George opened his stinging eyes, catching the rear-end of a juvenile ravager as it lumbered away from the edge of the pond, huffing loudly. Dream waded to the water’s edge and poked his head over the side of the outcropping they’d fell over. The bottom strap of his mask had come undone, leaving it flapping against his chin as he spoke. “I think it’s gone.” 

“Aether Almighty,” George pushed himself forward and climbed rather clumsily back onto the grass. He was soaked from head to toe. “This day can’t get any worse.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it can,” said Dream. He ripped off his sopping tunic and wrung it out over the pond. “Strip and air out your clothes. You’ll get sick if you don’t.” 

“I am not getting naked in front of you!” George spluttered. 

Dream rubbed his mask as if he were pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to get naked, you prude. Just take off your trousers and tunic. Those are what matter. You’re welcome to have damp undies for the rest of the day if you so wish.” 

“Turn around. I don’t want you seeing me in the nude.” 

Dream let out a loud groan. “You are so fucking annoying.” 

“I am your king! Do what I say!” 

Dream turned and faced the forest, mumbling curses under his breath. George stripped as quickly as he could, chilled by the mid-day breeze, and wrung as much water out of his clothes as he could before hanging them on a nearby tree. Luckily for him, there was a rock by the pond that had been warmed by the day’s sun, so George wrapped himself in his cloak and sat cross-legged as he combed his fingers through his knotty hair. 

“Can I turn around now?” Dream asked.

“Yeah.” George’s fingers caught on a snag, making him wince. “But if you’re going to get your dick out, you can stay out of view.” 

Dream appeared beside him, naked except for his underwear and mask. “Scooch,” he said gruffly. 

George’s cheeks grew warm. “You’re naked!” 

“And?” Dream plopped down next to him, sitting on the edge of George’s cape. “I’ve been around you every day for nearly a decade, George. We’re kind of past the point of performative modesty. Plus, this stone is warm and my ass is so cold I can feel my balls retreating back into my body.” 

“Gross!” George focused his eyes on a leaf floating by on the pond’s greenish surface. Laughing quietly, Dream stretched a leg out and dipped a foot in, creating gentle ripples that overtook the leaf and sunk it. Dream had nice legs. His physique had always been something George secretly envied. He was slender, but not scrawny like George was. Years of training had carved deep muscle lines into the curves of his arms and calves. And then there were the scars. Dream had many of them. George envied those too, in some strange way. They were stories, proof that he’d faced danger and obstacles and overcame them. Proof that he was strong. 

George didn’t have a single callus or scratch to his name.

“You know,” Dream said. “You should at least try to not actively hate me while we’re on the run from assassins. It’ll make this whole journey a lot easier for the both of us if you loosen up and let yourself take a joke.”

George tucked his legs up to his chest and rested his chin in the groove of one of his knees. “I don’t hate you. You’ve saved my life several times now.” 

Dream mimicked George’s pose and pulled his knees to his chest. “Well,” he said quietly. “You don’t like me.” 

“ _You_ don’t like  _me_ , actually.” 

“Only because you’re a stuck-up prick whenever I try to make conversation.” 

George felt tension build along the back of his shoulder blades. “Sorry I can’t be one of the boys with you and the rest of the knights, okay? I have a kingdom to run.” 

“Well, sorry I can’t be one of your high-and-mighty royal buddies you sip tea with!” Dream cracked his knuckles. His voice had taken on a hard edge. “You’re not better than me just because you’re a king.” 

“I’m not even a fucking king anymore!” George had his hands on Dream’s shoulders before he realized what he was doing, gripping so tightly his knuckles were white. “I ran away at the first sign of danger! I abandoned everyone!”

He pushed Dream backwards with all his might, sending him tumbling down into a small patch of muddy sand. “The only reason I’m alive right now is because you’re here to babysit me twenty four hours a day!” 

All the fear and rage he’d forced down over the last twelve hours came rushing up his throat and he doubled over, choking into his hands. Dream stared up at him, bewildered. “Gods,” George moaned. “I’m fucking useless. I should have never been king.” 

Dream was silent for a moment. George sobbed into his balled-up fists and felt the burn of humiliation up his neck and face.  _Fucking pathetic._

“Well,” Dream said stiffly. “It seems you needed to get that out.” 

“Oh, fuck off!” George pulled at his hair until it stung. “You can drop the cocky act now. I get it. I’m a spoilt little prince and you’re better than me in every way possible. I get it!” 

For the first time in his life, Dream seemed speechless. George’s rage ebbed away as they sat there in uncomfortable silence, leaving him feeling even smaller than before. He was so cold out here in the forest. He just wanted to go home. 

“Do you know that I can’t read?”

George blinked. “What?” He asked.

Dream rose unsteadily to his feet, rubbing his elbow. “I can’t read,” he repeated with a small chuckle. “Like, at all.”

“But I’ve handed you notes before!”

“And I stare at them and nod pensively until you lose track of what you’re doing and take them back. I can’t read anything besides my name, and even that is hard when it’s not in Sapnap’s handwriting.”

George put his head in his hands and massaged his throbbing temples. “Why are you telling me this now?” 

Dream shrugged. “I don’t know. Thought it might make you feel better. You can read.” 

“You’re so annoying.” George found himself chuckling, wiping his tears with the corner of his cape. “You are so fucking annoying.” 

“I made you stop crying, though!” Dream said proudly. “You actually laughed at something I said! I’ve been waiting nearly ten years for that.” 

“Congratulations,” George sniffed. “You got me to laugh at a stupid remark mid-breakdown while I’m nearly naked on a rock with pond water in my hair. Impressive.” 

“Hey, let me be proud of this.” Dream sat back down next to him and dusted a layer of sand off his shoulder. “We don’t have to be friends. But loosen up a little, man! You’re kind of stuck with me.” 

George’s slight grin faded.  _ You’re kind of stuck with me.  _

_ You’ll always need me.  _

“Go check on the clothes,” he said quietly. “We should get going.” 

“But, I—“ Dream deflated. “Fine. Okay.” 

He left without another word, taking with him the slight bit of peace that had snuck its way into George’s heart. A gust of passing wind raised goosebumps along his bare spine. 

_ You will always need him to protect you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heatwaves chapter 9 got me Feeling wow 
> 
> question for those reading! Who are you excited to see more show up in this story: Ranboo or Sapnap? 👀
> 
> God I may post my prewritten chapters and just update as I go bc I’m so impatient lmaoooo 
> 
> -Ophelia


	7. Door To Hell

“Alrighty, we’re stopping here for the night.” 

George looked around them. There was nothing but forest as far as he could see; certainly no place to build a tent. “Where?” 

Dream pointed upwards, into the thicket of branches that made up the ancient tree under which they’d stopped. “Up there, your Highness. These trees are perfect to sleep in.” 

George balked. “Are you pulling my leg?” 

Dream hopped up onto one of the low branches, too engrossed in his climbing to answer immediately. “We don’t have to go too high; fifteen feet or so should be enough to get us out of any mob’s eyesight.” 

He skittered up several more branches in the blink of an eye with the ease of a squirrel. “Come on! Get up before it gets dark! We’ll want time to get comfy.” 

Good gods in the Aether above. 

George placed an unsure hand on one of the lowest tree branches and grimaced as the tree bark flaked beneath his fingers. “This is not safe!” 

“Nothing is safe out here!” Dream called down to him. 

“You know I can’t climb all that well, right?” George hefted himself up onto a waist-high branch and felt the sensitive skin of his healed stab wound sting as it was pulled. Dream was feet above him, moving around as if looking for something. Swallowing the fear in his throat, George pushed himself up two more branches and paused. “How to we make sure we don’t fall as we sleep?” 

Dream looked down at him. His white mask looked quite out of place surrounded by tree branches. “Luck!” He said. 

“Luck?”

“Luck! I hope you’re not a sleep-roller.”

George swung his leg over the branch on which Dream crouched and pulled himself into a seated position. They were far too high up for his liking. “It would be easier to figure out if you were being sarcastic if I could see your face.” 

“Nope!” Dream answered immediately. “Not a chance. We don’t know when we’re being watched.” 

Before George had the chance to answer, Dream swung their backpack off his shoulder and shoved it in the fork between two nearby branches. “Get up here. We’ll eat a little before bed and then try to get a couple hours’ sleep.” 

“It’s your fault if I fall and break my back,” George mumbled, scaling the rest of the way with the remainder of his energy and collapsed in another fork in the branches was just big enough to sit back in somewhat comfortably. His tired legs were happy for the rest. 

“Here.” Dream handed him their canteen and the end piece of a loaf of bread. “Dinner is served.” 

George hadn’t realized how hungry he’d become, nor how thick and dry his tongue felt in his mouth. Gods, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d skipped a meal at all, let alone gone the whole day without a bite to eat. “Thank you.” He said. The water felt like a healing potion on his sore throat. The bread wasn’t as good as the loaves he had at home, but it had nuts and seeds in it that seemed to bring life back to his withering muscles.

Dream tucked himself back into his own little fork of branches with a slice of bread between his hands, oddly at home amongst the leaves and small twigs. “I love bread,” he said, picking a piece off and sliding it under his mask. “When you’re on the streets, managing to steal a whole bread loaf was pretty much equal to finding an enchanted golden apple in terms of excitement.” 

“You can take that off, you know,” George said quietly. “The mask, I mean. Nobody’s around.”

Dream shoved another piece of bread up his mask and paused. His shoulders curled in slightly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he replied. “I can eat with it just fine.” 

“It can’t be comfortable wearing it twenty-four hours a day.” George bit down on a seed and felt it crumble in his mouth. “I haven’t seen your face at all since we were teenagers. Has anyone?”

Dream leaned back, catching his mask on a stripe of sunlight that made it glow orange. “Not really. I’ve gotten used to being behind this mask. I didn’t really have a choice to begin with.” 

“I won’t make you wear it anymore, if you want. I don’t care if you have scars. We both know the whole ‘undercover work’ story was bullshit anyways.” 

Dream opened their canteen with a long squeak and turned his head to take a long drink. George caught the faintest glimpse of his lips as his mask rode up. “I’m fine, George. I don’t want to take it off.” 

“So I’ll just never know what you look like?” 

Dream did not answer for several long moments. George trained his eyes on the multicoloured sky and tried to imagine how his castle was faring back at home.

“No, I guess you won’t,” came Dream’s quiet voice. “I guess you won’t.” 

The rest of their meal was eaten in silence. George somehow felt hungrier than before he’d eaten. If Dream felt the same, he did not show it outwardly. Perhaps he was just used to going hungry. 

A passing breeze sent a chill down George’s spine. He pulled the hood of his coat up and felt it tickle his ears. He’d never liked wool, given how it made him so itchy he wanted to pull his skin off, but Bad certainly hadn’t been lying when he’d said it would be a lifesaver at night. 

“Is your cape wool?” George asked. 

Dream shook his head. “Nah. But it’s warm enough anyway.” 

George frowned. “It doesn’t look it. It barely goes to your ass.”

Dream unclipped his cape and threw it over himself as if it were a blanket. “I’m not as soft as you are. I’ve survived in much worse with much less.” 

“Alright, nature boy.” George rolled his eyes and settled deeper into the cocoon of warmth he’d created in his cape. “I get it. You’re tough and invincible and strong.” 

Dream crossed his arms and fell silent.  _ Did I say something wrong? _ George wondered. 

“Is it safe for both of us to be asleep at the same time?” 

“Eh,” replied Dream. “I barely sleep for more than ten minutes at a time anyway. We both need rest.” 

“That’s not healthy.”

“It hasn’t killed me yet.” 

“Don’t die, please,” George chuckled, closing his eyes. “If you do, I’m bound to die a horrible death in the following twenty-four hours.” 

“Oh, come on.” 

No more was said, but the silence that overcame them as they drifted off to sleep was comfortable. If George tried hard enough, he could almost imagine himself back home, asleep in his bed with the smell of his fireplace lulling him to sleep. Dream would be there too, just outside his bedroom door. Watching. Protecting.

Underneath the vast expanse of the sky, George was for once glad for Dream’s presence. He was a link between George and this big, unfamiliar world in which he felt so small. George still would not consider Dream to be a friend, but as he stretched his arm into a stripe of moonlight and let it illuminate the long, fading scar on his forearm, he felt warmth form in his chest. Respect, maybe? Solidarity? George wasn’t too sure.

Whatever that feeling was, it felt nice. George fell into a dreamless sleep, warm beneath his cape, and woke only when the moon had long since begun its slow decent behind the mountains. 

Dream was gone.

“Dream?” George shot up straight. “Dream!”

He went to rise to his feet, forgetting that he was quite literally  _ in a fucking tree _ and only barely managed to stop himself from crashing to the ground by throwing himself backwards and grabbing onto any nearby branch he could. His cape slipped off his shoulders and fluttered to the forest floor, leaving him in only his tunic. The brisk morning air raised goosebumps along his arms. “Dream!” George yelled. No answer. Their pack was still where it had been left, seemingly untouched. 

George looked over the side of the tree and thankfully didn’t see any Dream corpses crumpled on the ground. The remains of a skeleton lay in a pile in a patch of sunlight, being nibbled on by a fox that dashed away when it caught George staring. Anxiety began to crawl its way up his neck like a spider. Dream would have woken him up if there was danger, right? At the very least, would a creeper explosion have? 

George bristled with the cold.  _ Fuck. I need my cape.  _

With about as much grace as a newborn foal, George painstakingly shuffled his way back down to the ground and picked his cape off the dewy grass. Great. It would probably be damp for the rest of the day if they didn’t get a couple hours of good sun. 

“Dream!” George called out once more. “Dude! Where the hell are you?”

“George!” 

Dream’s voice was faint but intense. “George!”

George felt a sudden burst of terror. “Dream!” He screamed. He sprinted in the direction of Dream’s voice, cape clutched between his hands, leaving their pack nestled up in the tree. Branches whipped as his face and arms but George barrelled through them anyway, heart in his throat, and had just reached a small clearing in the trees when something slammed into him from behind. George whirled around, stunned by a jolt of fear, only to see Dream doubling over with his hands on his knees.

“Dude!” Dream’s voice broke off into a wheezy laugh. “You ran right past me! Did you not hear me?” 

“What—“ George’s head was swimming. “Dude! You scared the shit out of me!” 

“I just went to piss,” Dream started. “Then you will not  _ believe _ —“ 

“Fucking hell!” George collapsed into a crouch, eyes pressed up against his knees. “You can’t just run off like that. What if you got attacked?” 

The humour in Dream’s voice wavered. “I’m fine. I was only gone for a couple minutes.” 

George groaned. “What if one day you’re not fine? What if I don’t know?” He said, irritation crackling in his veins. “You’re not invincible, Dream. I’d like for you to actually take this seriously and not run off whenever you fucking feel like it. It scares me.” 

The smile plastered on Dream’s mask was jarring in comparison to his tense body language. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” 

“You left me completely alone without knowing where you were! Use your fucking head for once!” 

“Hey!” Dream jabbed a finger at George’s chest with so much force it made him stumble backwards. “Do not fucking imply that I am stupid. We are  _ not _ going there.” 

George had never heard Dream so angry. “I wasn’t  _ implying _ anything—“ 

“Just stay here.” Dream shoved past him and started on his way back towards their tree with his fists balled at his side. “I’m getting our pack. Don’t move.” 

He disappeared into the brush without another word, leaving George alone and colder than before.  _ Well then, _ he thought with a stab of guilt.  _ I definitely ruined the mood for the morning.  _

Dream returned a minute later with their pack slung over one shoulder. “Come on. I found something.” 

His voice was flat, void of its previous excitement. George felt another stab of guilt. “What did you find?” 

“An abandoned nether portal. It’s intact and everything.” 

George stopped in his tracks. “We’re going into the nether?” 

Dream let out an exasperated sigh. “We could be in the Antarctic empire by the end of the day if we go fast enough. It’d be stupid to pass up this opportunity.” 

“Neither of us have armour! Or gold! We’d be slaughtered!” 

Dream fiddled with one of the small pockets in the backpack and took out small pieces of flint and steel. “Piglins are not smart creatures. All we need to do is avoid the big herds and we’ll be peachy keen. They stay near their bastions anyway.” 

“Absolutely not,” George said sternly. “No fucking way.” 

“Whose job is it to lead right now?” Dream snapped. 

“Mine! I am your king! You listen to what I say!” 

Dream’s body shook with the force of sudden fury. The beady black eyes of his smiling mask bored into George’s skin. “To—“ he caught on his word and George could hear his teeth grit with rage— “To hell with this king shit. Your crown means  _ nothing  _ out here.” 

He raised his chin and advanced on George with a finger outstretched. “I’m going into the nether whether you like it or not. I don’t give a fuck if you follow me. Right now, you could hand yourself over to an assassin for all I care.” 

Their backpack landed on the ground at George’s feet. “Your choice, your Highness.” 

Dream turned on his heel and stalked off, tinkering with the flint and steel in his hands. George’s feet seemed unable to move for the next couple moments as his brain fought to understand what the  _ fuck _ had just happened.  _ You fucked up,  _ began the familiar chant in his brain.  _ You’re fucked without him. You’re nothing without him. _

“Dream,” George’s voice came out as a pathetic stammer. “Dream, wait.” 

He picked up the heavy backpack and lugged it over his shoulder, darting after Dream’s retreating figure. As they neared the portal, the acrid stench of burning soil filled George’s nose.  _My dad always said you could smell a portal before you saw it. He really wasn’t kidding._

Unlike the clean, meticulously-maintained travel portals George had been near, the one Dream had found bore the marks of age and wear. It was obviously man-made, but whatever had built it was certainly long-gone. Coils of ivy had made their home in the grooves of the obsidian, blackening as they grew too near to the portal’s centre. Though the portal itself was unlit, the effects of the purple haze and what had once come through it snuffed out any flora that dared to bloom too close.

Dream crouched by the portal in silence, giving the flint and steel a few test rubs before lighting an arc of sparks with a flash of his hand. The portal burst to life, hissing and moaning as if it were in pain. Ice crawled down into the pit of George’s stomach. “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t make me go in there.” 

Dream turned his head to the side. George felt his eyes on him. “Give me the backpack,” he said simply. 

George clenched his jaw as he felt a lump rise in his throat. “Come on, Dream. Please.” 

“I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” 

George handed him the backpack, feeling no less heavy as the weight left his fingers. Without another word, Dream leaned into the purple haze and disappeared. 

_ Gods, Dad, whoever is out there: help me. _

The air of the nether smelt like smoke. Not like smoke of a fireplace, but of the thick black smoke that enveloped forests and houses and snuffed all life out of whatever was unlucky enough to get caught inside it. George buried his face in his cape, holding back his coughs as Dream scanned the area with both his axes in hand. They’d appeared in a small valley, lined with a mountainous structure of netherrack on one side and a crimson forest on the other. George felt so bare, so naked. He wasn’t even armed. 

“This way,” said Dream. He had a compass open in one hand. “Once we find a highway or a travelled path, we’ll be on our way in relative safety.” 

George barely wanted to move. “What if there are assassins out here looking for us?” 

“Then we’ll fight them off.” 

George turned back and looked at the portal behind him. How inviting it seemed now. The back of his throat stung. 

“I guess we will.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what will happen in the nether??? The nether is such a fun and safe place for young dumb men without armour :)) 
> 
> how is everyone liking the story so far? This will most likely end up being even longer than A Very Odd Family, Indeed. I have so many ideas and lots of relationship dynamics to explore 👀
> 
> -Ophelia


	8. Hotheaded

George had been only ten when his father had left to conquer a nether fortress. He’d begged his father for months to stay behind, to allow his knights to go on without him and bring back the wither skulls needed to summon that awful beast his father was so desperate on beating themselves. But his father had been adamant on his presence.  _ He _ needed to be the one to carry the skulls home.  _He_ needed to be the one to slay the Wither beast.  _He_ needed to be the one to lay the nether star in the beacon and bring light to the kingdom. For him, it was a matter of pride. 

That is where George and his father differed. George had no pride. He was no more than a puppet king; a child left behind by his father in a throne that barely fit him.

A month later, his father had returned, three wretched skulls in hand. Within the week, the Wither had been brought to life and slaughtered. They placed the beacon in the town square for all to see. 

Four of the seven men his father had journeyed with did not return from the journey to the nether fortress. Their bodies could not be returned to the overworld, so they were buried in the nether with all of their gear. 

~~ Probably because it was too infected to be salvaged. ~~

“Fuck, I’m thirsty,” George mumbled. A crimson vine squealed as it was crushed beneath his boot. They’d been walking for over two hours, and the heat of the heavy nether air had long since forced him to remove his cape and carry it bundled between his hands. The material of his tunic was slick and wet against his back.

Dream passed him their canteen without looking back. Though they’d somewhat gone back to speaking terms, the weight of their argument still hung in the air. “Be fast about it. Water starts evaporating immediately once you open the lid.” 

George unscrewed the canteen lid and pressed it to his lips, taking a couple quick gulps of water. It had grown warm over the hours since they’d been in the nether but was refreshing nonetheless. George felt the couple drops left on his lips hiss and bubble as he screwed the lid back on. He wanted to drink more, but they had ration what little water they had lest the rest of the journey be downright miserable. Being a little thirsty was manageable; being downright dehydrated was not. 

“How far are we from the highway?” George asked. They’d seen nothing but crimson forests and a single soul sand valley since they’d arrived. Every moment that passed without them finding a nether highway or path only served to make George more anxious. He hated it here. He hated the stench, the sweat beading on the back of his neck, the way every small noise sounded like the wail of a nearby ghast. If they weren’t out of this awful place by the end of the day, George would lose his mind. 

Dream checked his compass. “I’m not sure. All the highways go north, so we must be running parallel to one right now. We’ll turn west once we get out of this forest and will hopefully hit one then.” 

“Fuck,” George moaned. “I want out of this godforsaken place.” 

“We haven’t even run into a single piglin yet!” Said Dream. “We’ve seen less danger here than in the overworld.”

“I don’t care!” A shiver ran down George back though he was the farthest thing from cold. “I hate it here. I hate every bit of it.” 

They walked for some more in silence, Dream stopping every couple minutes to study the compass some more and mutter to himself under his breath. In all honesty, George thought they were lost. The blasted crimson forest they were in seemed to go on forever. He nearly pissed his pants when a zombified piglin stumbled out from behind a tree, dragging a sword at its side. _ “Whatever you do, don’t hit one of those boys,”  _ George’s father had once told him over dinner.  _ “They won’t mess with you until you hit one of ‘em. And when you mess with one, you mess with them all.”  _

“Oh, shit.” 

George bumped into Dream’s back as he stopped in his tracks, stiff as a board. They’d arrived at a small outcropping that dropped off into a massive lava lake. “Oh fuck,” he muttered. “This isn’t good.” 

“What?” George asked nervously. 

“I see the highway. It’s across the lake.” Dream pointed to the faded shape of a railway and walking path arcing over the small netherite hills across the boiling, bubbling body of lava. “There’s only one way across the lava lake, though.” 

His finger moved to another looming figure, half-hidden in the ashy fog. George’s stomach dropped.

A nether fortress.

George’s feet reacted before his brain did, and he was stumbling back into a tree before he realized he was moving at all. “No.” He dropped his cape on the ground and brought his hands up to grab at his hair. “No. No. Absolutely the fuck not.” 

“We have to, George.” There was a twinge of guilt in Dream’s voice. “If I’d have known, I would have gone another way.”

“Absolutely fucking not!” George cried. “We are not going near that damned thing!” 

“We have to! There’s no other way!” 

“Then we’re turning back.” George bent down on shaky knees and picked his cape up off the ground. “I’d rather face a thousand assassins than put one fucking foot in that fortress.” 

Dream made a sharp noise in the back of his throat. “Your Highness—“

“No!” George said sharply.

“I’d feel more comfortable protecting you in there than in the overworld.” 

“I don’t give a shit. My final answer is no.” 

“We have no choice! The portal is hours back! We may not even be able to find it again!”

“I said  no !” 

A group of nearby zombified piglins started at the sound of George’s raising voice, snorting curiously. George wiped at the sweat beading on the back of his neck. “No,” he repeated, quieter this time. Dream stared at him, still and silent, looking tense but not afraid. “I can’t go in there. I just can’t. I’m sorry, Dream.” 

Dream turned and stared at the jagged fortress entrance looming mere yards away from them, black in the dim nether light. A blaze wandered past one of the fenced windows, shining a kaleidoscope of orange light onto the brick windowsill. They were near enough to see the rolling black eyes suspended in its mass of hazy light, trained on something out of view.

George could smell ash. It made him want to sneeze.

“Then we’ll compromise.” 

Dream’s voice was quiet, uncharacteristically soft. He swung their backpack off his shoulders and dug a small vial out of one of the side pockets. It glittered in his hand, emitting a gentle light that turned his fingers pink.

George’s lungs seemed to lose their air. “An invisibility potion.” 

Dream held it out in front of him. “Eight minutes. Plenty of time to get through that fortress. No mobs will even notice you’re there.” 

“But what about you?” 

“I don’t fear what’s in there — you do. So leave the fighting to me and you’ll never have to step foot in one again.” 

Dream took a step closer, placing the vial into George’s hand. The glass was warm. “I’ll stay out of sight and you can just breeze through there like you own the place. In and out, no trouble at all.” 

George closed his eyes. The light of the invisibility potion cast shadows on the backs of his eyelids. 

“Please, George. We don’t have time to turn back.”

_ Fuck me.  _

In one swift motion, George tipped the vial over his head and poured it on himself. It stung like scalding water at first, then gentled into a tingly coolness as it sunk into his hair and skin and the material of his clothes. George looked down and watched as his hands darkened, darkened, until he was staring through them at the netherrack below him. Dream’s breath caught in his throat. “Gods,” he breathed. “I’ve never seen it in action before.” 

George leaned forward and handed the vial back to Dream. “It’s part of royal protocol. You have to know how to disappear quickly if needed.”

Dream started, breaking the strange atmosphere of peace that surrounded them. “Alright. It’s go time. Follow me.” 

~

To say that being invisible in the place of his nightmares was odd would be an understatement. 

This particular fortress seemed to be mostly empty, which was relieving. Dream got startled by a passing magma cube once or twice, but they hadn’t run into a single blaze or wither skeleton since they’d set food onto the fortress itself. George was still wary, though; Dream, with no armour, couldn’t afford to be caught off guard. Wither poison was nothing to be fooled around with.

If he tried hard enough, George could imagine his father tromping through the long, dark hallways, killing all the monsters in his path. How many wither skeletons had he killed to get those skulls?

Dream skulked ahead of him, smooth and light on his feet in every way George was not. He held one of his axes in one hand, a shield in the other. Every minute or so, he’d let out a low whistle, and George would whistle back. 

_ I’m still here. Keep going. _

They hit a dead end; one of the many they’d seen since arriving. The fortress may have been blissfully empty, but it was a near labyrinth in terms of trying to navigate their way through. Muttering, Dream turned around and tried another corridor, only for it to loop and bring them back to where they’d began. George felt his anxiety grow with every passing second. Eight minutes could pass at any moment. Then he’d be stuck there, unarmed and vulnerable. 

“Can we speed up? I only have a couple minutes left!” He hissed in Dream’s ear.

Dream pushed past him and jogged down another hallway, leading to a garden of nether warts they’d already seen twice. “I’m trying!” He said, slightly too loud for George’s liking. “This place is like a fucking maze!” 

They turned two more corners and exited out onto a long, roofless corridor. Dream raised his shield above his head as a ghast’s fireball rocketed over them. “Fuck! Come on!” 

George followed at his heels, heart thumping so loudly in his chest he was surprised Dream couldn’t hear it.  _ I should have known this wouldn’t go smoothly.  _

“Fuck!” Dream took a sharp turn sideways, nearly sending George smashing into the decaying chest of a wither skeleton. George’s knees nearly collapsed under him. Rasping angrily, the wither skeleton clambered after Dream’s retreating figure.

Terror coursed through George’s veins like ice. “Wait—“ he clapped a hand over his mouth as the wither skeleton whirled around, jaw clacking like a broken puppet. They were taller than he expected, smelling of decay and soot. How his father had managed to kill enough of them to bring home three skulls was a complete mystery in George’s mind.

“George!” Dream’s voice cried out. Holding back a scream, George ducked beneath the arm of the wither skeleton and sprinted towards him. A flash of colour caught his eye and  _ fuck _ — his hand was visible. He instinctively stuffed it into the pocket of his pants only to realize that his pants were visible as well. Every damned inch of him was so awfully  _ visible _ , down to his flapping cape that looked like a beacon against the nether’s overwhelming redness. The fear that clawed its way up George’s throat was hot and painful and sharper than any blade he’d ever seen. 

_ How are things going wrong so quickly?  _

Dream stood a couple feet ahead of him, teetering on a broken ledge, facing to the side with his axe raised defensively. “Dream!” George screamed. “Help!” 

Dream turned to face him, mask askew on his terrified face. He raised his outstretched palm and what little George could see of his mouth opened to form a single word. 

_“Stop!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEEHOO poor boys!!!! Should have packed more potions :) 
> 
> Mr. Beast’s rewind today destroyed my brain so I’m distracting myself with writing 
> 
> props to you, pissbaby! You got all our hopes up! I hate Leo men /j
> 
> -Ophelia


	9. Red Wounds

_ Boom . _

Hot orange light exploded before George’s eyes, enveloping Dream in a burst of soot that stung George’s eyes. Dream’s scream ripped through the air. “Dream!” George shrieked. A blast of incredible heat arced past his face, leaving his cheek burning. “Dream, where are you?” 

He reached forward blindly, catching the material of Dream’s tunic in his fingers. Dream jerked about erratically, trying to cough and scream all at once. “Dream!” George cried. He heard Dream’s axe clatter to the floor, sliding off the jagged edge of the nether fortress with a loud screech. Dream grasped at George’s arms, fingernails digging into his flesh. The stench of blood and burning material hung thick in the air.

Heat exploded on George’s back, pushing him forward. The ground beneath his feet gave way, sending he and Dream careening downwards. George landed on Dream’s shield with enough force to rip the air from his lungs and leave him hacking.  _ That’ll fucking bruise,  _ he thought. Wiping his burning eyes, George noticed a crumpled figure beside him and felt his heart stop. 

“Dream!” 

A rasping from above caught George’s attention as he rolled off his side and onto his aching knees. A figure stared down at them from over the nether fortress’s ledge, jabbing a sword in their direction. 

“Fuck off!” George screamed at the wither skeleton. “Fuck right off!” 

The dark silhouette retreated, taking with it George’s fear-induced adrenaline. He collapsed back onto his heels, breathing heavily as his brain fought to keep itself calm. “Dream?” He murmured. 

Dream merely moaned. He was curled on his side, motionless except for the rapid rising and falling of his chest. His axes and shield were scattered around him, seemingly forgotten. One of his hands was pressed to his shoulder. His breathing quickened as George put a tentative hand on his side and rolled him onto his back.

“Holy fuck! Dream!” 

The entirety of Dream’s left arm, shoulder and neck were covered in blood and ash. George felt bile rise up into his throat. Several pieces of black shrapnel had gotten stuck in the wound, deepening the cuts with every movement of Dream’s body. 

“ _Oh—_ “ Dream hissed through his teeth as he tried to sit up. “Oh no. Oh no. Not here. Not here.” 

George gently pushed him back onto his uninjured elbow. “Don’t move!” He looked around in a panic. There was a small cave carved into the netherrack wall a couple feet away. “There’s a cave over there. Let me help you.” 

He maneuvered Dream’s arms out of the straps of their backpack and slipped himself beneath the crook of Dream’s good shoulder. The stripe of skin along the back of Dream’s neck and ear were clammy and flushed bright red. “There’s a healing potion in the backpack,” Dream grunted, moaning in pain as George practically dragged him into the small cave. He collapsed against the far wall, panting. “Small pocket, left side. It’s bright pink.” 

George grabbed the backpack and darted back inside, digging through every pocket he could see until he pulled out a vial of glimmering pink liquid. “This it?” 

Dream nodded, reaching out his good hand. George hesitated. “The shrapnel. We have to get it out before you drink this.” 

“Give it to me,” Dream said sharply.

“It won’t do shit if there’s stuff still in the wounds! Infections will still get in!” 

Dream went to move forward, growling, but his injured side left him paralyzed. “George, give me that fucking potion right now or I think I’ll kill you.” 

George swallowed and set his jaw. Dream’s body softened. “Please, George. Please.” 

“Not until I get that shrapnel out.” George set the potion behind him and dragged the backpack in front of him. “What’s in here?” 

Dream leaned his head back on the wall and whined through his nose. His injured arm twitched uncontrollably, spilling the blood pooling in his palm onto the floor in dark droplets. “There are bandages—“ he cut off abruptly, sucking air between his teeth. “There are bandages in there somewhere. Scissors too, I think.” 

_ I need tweezers,  _ George thought with a stab of anxiety. “I didn’t know blaze fireballs had shrapnel in them.” 

“Me neither. I guess we both learned something today.” 

George dug out a handful of cloth bandages and set them beside him. There weren’t nearly as many of them as he would have liked, but they were certainly better than nothing. He found the long, thin pair of scissors a moment later, tucked safely into a drawstring bag embroidered with the initials _B.B.H_ on them in neat stitching.  _Come on, George. Stay calm. His life is in your hands._

George pulled out the half-empty canteen. “Do you want water?” He asked. 

To his surprise, Dream shook his head. “Save it. Just give me the fucking potion.” 

“No!” George snapped. He grabbed the scissors and bandages in one hand and inched closer, ignoring how Dream pressed himself closer to the wall in an effort to distance himself. “I’m getting this shrapnel out of your shoulder if it kills me.” 

“I think it will,” Dream said, “Because will kill you if you come anywhere near me with those fucking blades.” 

Something shifted under his mask as he forced himself to lay farther back. George’s mouth fell open.

“Is there shrapnel in your fucking _eye?_ ” 

Dream’s legs convulsed as if overcome with the instinct to run. “No!” He said immediately. The fear in his voice made George hesitate. “Gods. Fuck. This can’t get any worse.” 

“How did you get shrapnel in your eye?” 

“I don’t know, your Highness,” Dream hissed. George noticed a trickle of blood leaking out of the bottom of his mask and felt his stomach churn. “Why don’t you ask the fucking blaze?”

George gritted his teeth and reached for the edge of Dream’s mask, only for Dream to shriek and bat his hand away. The piece of shrapnel hidden beneath Dream’s mask must have shifted with the movement, as a fresh spurt of blood dribbled down Dream’s chin and onto his chest.

_ Alright. Different approach.  _

George took a deep breath. “Dream, it’s about time I pay you back for all the times you’ve saved my life. Let me save yours. Please.”

In the moment Dream seemed to be stunned by his words, George scooted himself a little closer. The musty scent of blood on the air was so strong George could nearly taste it. A long shudder wracked Dream’s body, making him groan. “I’ll get your face patched up,” George continued softly, “Give you some water, and you can put the mask back on while I fix up your shoulder.” 

“No,” Dream whimpered. “No. I don’t want this.” 

George placed a gentle hand on Dream’s uninjured shoulder, and when Dream didn’t fight back, brought his hand up and around the back of Dream’s head. He rested his fingers on one of the leather straps, feeling the warmth of the little metal buckle on his fingertips. 

“Close your eyes,” said Dream quickly. “I want to decide when you open them.” 

“Roger that,” replied George. His heart was in his throat.  _Why is this such a big deal? I’ve known the dude for years. I’m just seeing his face._

George hadn’t seen Dream’s face since the accident. So much time had passed that Dream’s face was a vague, blurry image in the eye of George’s mind, a conglomeration of every other dirty-blonde young man he’d seen over the years. The more he tried to think about it, pin it down in his mind’s eye, the more the image changed. 

George closed his eyes and felt the first buckle come loose beneath his fingers. “All right down there?” He said to Dream.

“Just get it over with.” Dream’s voice was tight as if he were about to cry. Perhaps he was. 

George moved his hand farther down into the mess of Dream’s knotted waves. The second buckle came undone and the mask slipped forward, hitting George’s chest with a small  _ thunk _ _._ Leaning back, George let the mask slide down Dream’s body and land between them on the floor.

“You can—“ Dream’s breath hitched. “ _Fuck._ ” 

“I can wait for a moment if needed.” 

Dream chuckled tearfully. “Now  _ I _ think I’m having a fucking seizure or something.” 

George smiled. “Well, at least let me open my eyes before you die. I want to see you before you’re a corpse.” 

“Fine. Just do it. Open them.” 

So George did. 

A moment passed. 

Then two.

“I didn’t know you had freckles.” 

Dream blinked. “That’s...  _ That’s _ what you notice first?” 

“Yeah, I mean. They’re nice.”

Dream stared at him with wide eyes. Or, rather, with a wide  _ eye _ — a layer of half-dried blood had the other one closed. Dream’s eyes were green. How had he never noticed? 

“How do I look?” Said Dream. One of the long white scars that covered his face slashed over both lips, leaving divots in the places where the wounds had never fully healed. 

“Not as bad as I thought,” George tore his eyes away from Dream’s mouth and focused on the long needle of shrapnel lodged into the flesh of his brow bone. By the grace of the gods, it had missed his eye. “You get to keep both eyes.” 

Dream smiled. He had a big smile. “Oh, thank the gods.” 

For the first time in years (or perhaps for the first time at all) George laid his hand on Dream’s cheek and grabbed the sliver of shrapnel with two fingers. “It’s big enough to do with my hands. On the count of three, okay? One, two —“ 

The shrapnel slid loose with a slight tug. Dream winced. “Ow.” 

_What an odd thing to have inside a fireball._ George twirled the obsidian-like needle of shrapnel between his fingers, inspecting it closely. “Well,” he said. “That wasn’t too bad.” 

He reached behind him and uncorked the healing potion. “Close your eyes,” he told Dream, who complied with a slightly curled lip. “This’ll sting.” 

He poured a couple drops of the healing potion onto the small wound, causing Dream to shriek and grab at George’s leg with a white-knuckled hand. “I’d really rather be drinking that thing right now!” He grumbled. 

“Then let’s start on your shoulder.” George grabbed the canteen and uncapped it. He pressed it to Dream’s lips. “Drink. You need it.” 

A couple drops of the healing potion went on the scissors too, just for good measure. George didn’t know where they had been or what they’d touched, and giving Dream an infection wouldn’t do wonders for their budding sort-of-friendship. 

“Alright,” George readied the scissors over a large chunk of shrapnel just under Dream’s clavicle. “Try not to scream too much.” 

Picking shrapnel out of someone’s shoulder with a pair of scissors was easier than George had thought. Dream remained mostly silent, grunting in pain if George’s hand shook a little too much, but the shrapnel had been made slippery from all the blood and didn’t put up much of a fight when tugged on. Within minutes, George had Dream’s shoulder de-shrapneled (was that even a word?) and clumsily wrapped in cloth bandages. Dream probably could have done a better job bandaging himself up, but George’s handiwork would have to do for the time being. Dream looked so exhausted that he could barely keep his eyes open. 

George sat back and crossed his legs, rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands. “Holy shit. I can’t believe I just did that.” 

Dream finished the rest of the healing potion and coughed. “Me neither. You did well.” 

His hand fell to his side, limp with fatigue. The empty vial rolled from his fingers, hitting the toe of George’s boot. George picked it up, made sure the cork was secure, and placed it neatly back in their bag. It could be useful to carry some extra water. “Need anything?” He asked gently.

Dream shook his head. His hair was heavy with sweat, stuck to his forehead in loose waves. “I just need to sleep,” he mumbled. 

“I guess that means I’m on night watch, huh?” George chuckled. 

The corner of Dream’s mouth that was dimpled with slash marks twitched. “You can sleep too if you’d like.” 

“Oh, I’m joking. I’ll keep watch. You need sleep more than I do.”

Dream settled into his small nook, wincing as his shoulder moved. “Thank you, George. You definitely saved my ass.” 

George chuckled quietly, wiping a layer of sweat off the back of his neck. “I’m finally useful! Get yourself in trouble a couple million more times and we’ll be even.” 

“You’ve always been useful. You’re the king of a whole country, for gods’ sake!” Dream replied. 

“Oh, hush about the king stuff. Anyone could do what I do.” George’s stomach rumbled; he ignored it. “You’re the best swordsman from here to the Antarctic empire. You don’t just happen upon talent like that.” 

“It gets old when it’s all you’re good for,” Dream sighed. “There’s a reason knights aren’t taught to read or write.” 

“I’ll get you a tutor if we get my kingdom back. That’s a promise.” George slid himself up the wall by Dream’s head and felt a chuckle bubble up in his throat. “All the other knights can come too. I’ll have the most literate army in the whole continent.” 

A toothy grin made its way across Dream’s face. “The Eretians won’t know what hit them when I start pulling out four-syllable words.” 

“King Eret himself will shit his pants. No sword needed! Just me and my army of men who know how to read.” 

“I’m going to sound so smart,” Dream giggled. “I’ll just scream every big word I know.” 

“Discombobulation!” George raised his hand as if he were parrying a sword.

“Erectile disfunction!” Dream repeated. “Sapnap taught me those ones!”

He then exploded into loud, wheezy laughter that shook his body from head to toe. “Shut up!” George whispered, pressing a hand to Dream’s mouth though he could barely keep the grin off his own. “You sound like a fucking kettle! Are you trying attract every hoglin in the area?” 

Dream batted his hand away. “You go fight them! You’re useful now!” 

They fell into another fit of childish giggles, interrupted only by the distant wailing of a ghast outside that startled them into silence. “I can’t believe I’m actually having a normal conversation with you. You’re actually  _ laughing _ _,_ ” said Dream. “I must be dying or something.” 

“Mortal danger brings anyone together, I guess.” George replied with a small smile. “Everything is so shit right now that all we can really do is laugh about it. It’s either that or cry.” 

Dream chuckled but said nothing else for a long while. His eyes drifted shut, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic popping of the lava nearby. George laid down next to him, cape bunched beneath his head like a pillow. Netherrack was surprisingly spongy and not too uncomfortable to lay on. 

_ Only for a minute or two,  _ George told himself.  _I’m just going to doze._

“George?” 

George turned his head. Dream stared back at him, holding his mask against his chest as if it were a comfort animal. His eyes glimmered in the gentle light. “I’m sorry for snapping at you this morning. I didn’t mean what I said.” 

George reached up and patted Dream’s bloodstained hand. They were cool. “I know you didn’t. It’s alright.” 

George quite liked the way Dream smiled at him as he closed his eyes. He looked comfortable. Unencumbered. Content and nothing else.

George closed his eyes and let himself fall into a warm sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dream face reveal pog??? Heheheh 
> 
> writing nether lore is so mf fun like seriously minecraft gets gruesome as hell when you try to make it realistic 
> 
> once again, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Y’all seemed to really like the cliffhanger! I hope this provided you with all the serotonin you need 😄
> 
> but the action isn’t over yet >:)
> 
> -Ophelia


	10. Feverish

The fact that George knew little to nothing about the nether was a fact he would admit readily. He avoided it during travel when possible and tuned out his father’s dinnertime stories about his adventures for the majority of his childhood. He’d grown up comfortable and soft, happy with the knowledge that any trip to the nether would be guarded, controlled, with a box of fire resistance potions under every carriage seat if anything went awry. The privilege of not needing to know much about the nether was one George took full advantage of.

However, despite his unwillingness to listen, George’s father had made one thing crystal clear to him: the nether had two killers. The first one was obvious, the subject of every horror tale that parents used to scare their kids away from portals — the wither bites, which sucked the oxygen from your blood and ate away at your veins and muscles until you died in agony, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. George had had many a nightmare about those while his father had been away. Every child did.

The second one, though, was rather unexpected. It wasn’t the ghasts, nor the blazes, nor the hordes of piglins that could overtake even the most powerful of warriors with their deadly crossbows. It wasn’t the suffocating soul sand, the pockets of lava hidden underground to swallow up any unsuspecting miners, or the gelatinous magma cubes that possessed enough force to knock a man straight off his feet. 

The second killer of the nether was a silent one. Many didn’t even know its name.

The nether fever.

“George.” 

There was a hand on George’s arm, squeezing hard enough to bruise. 

“George.” 

Icy breath hit George’s face, tickling his heavy eyes. 

“George, wake up.” 

_ “How the hell does that work?”  _

_ George’s father took another sip of his wine. “When too much nether air hits an open wound, the body freaks out and tries to cool itself down because it thinks it’s overheating. It’s a reverse fever, really. Body temperature drops, blood pools in your abdomen to keep your organs warm, and then delirium sets in after a while. Sometimes your capillaries will all burst and you’ll die from heat exhaustion over the next couple hours. Nasty stuff.”  _

_ George leaned his chin on his hand. “Hypothermia, basically.”  _

_ “Right you are, my boy. Heat-induced hypothermia. The deadliest paradox around.”  _

“George. I’m fucking freezing.” 

_ Fuck .  _

George snapped open his eyes, nearly knocking Dream over as he scrambled to his knees. Dream crouched beside him, one hand clutching the sleeve of George’s tunic. His mask sat crooked on his face with only one of the buckles done up. “George?” He repeated blearily. “I am so fucking cold. I can’t feel my fingers.” 

He rested a shivering, pale hand in George’s lap and stared up at him with wide, spacey eyes. “What’s going on? The fuck is happening to me?” 

_ “ Fuck _ _.”_ George rolled to his feet and threw his cape over his shoulders. “Get up, Dream. We have to go.” 

“Huh?” Dream said. His lower lip had taken on an alarming shade of purple. “What?” 

George grabbed Dream’s hand and pulled him to his feet. His skin was like ice. “You’ve got a nether fever. We have to get back into the overworld.” 

“Nether fever?” Dream reached behind his head and fumbled clumsily with the undone buckle until George darted behind him and did his mask up for him. “I thought that was a myth.” 

“Does it feel like a myth?” George hefted their heavy backpack over his shoulder, ignoring the stain on his neck. “Follow me.” 

Dream jogged at George’s heels as they exited their small cave, arms wrapped around himself protectively. George’s thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and grim determination.  _ I will not let him die,  _ he forced himself to chant.  _ I will not let him die. I will not let him die. I will not let him die.  _

“Your navigation skills didn’t totally fail you, Dream.” George pointed upwards to the faded shape of a nether highway that sat along the nearby cliff. “You may not have gotten us right to the nether highway, but you got us close enough for me.”

He hopped onto one of the reachable ledges and cried out to the highway above. “Hello! Anyone up there?”

No response came, and George was too nervous to do anymore screaming so near to the fortress. “We’ll have to climb,” he called back to Dream. “Do you think you’ll be—“

His words died as his heart leapt into his throat. Dream crouched by the edge of the lava lake, perilously close, warming his hands mere inches over the bubbling surface. “Dream!” George shrieked. “Get the fuck away from there!” 

He crossed the distance between them in a few panicked strides and grabbed Dream by the shoulders, yanking him backwards. Dream’s shivering body fell back into George’s chest and knocked them both back onto their asses. “The hell, dude?” Dream grumbled. “I was just warming my hands.” 

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” George replied sharply. He got Dream back to his feet and hurried him to the cliff’s edge, glancing around for any lurking ghasts or piglins. “Climb up, squirrel boy.” 

Dream put one hand on the spongy netherrack cliff and George noticed with a deep chill that his fingers had reddened. “My ears are stinging,” Dream said quietly. “And I have a headache. Can I have some water?” 

“When we’re on the highway.” George promised. “Just climb the best you can and we‘ll be on our way out of this hellhole.” 

_ I don’t even know how far we are from the portal to the Antarctic empire. It could be hours away. Dream may not even be conscious by then.  _

Getting Dream up the cliff was more of a challenge than trying to climb up with the heavy backpack himself. Though Dream hadn’t yet begun to become confused or delirious, the strong lethargy that marked the first stage of the nether fever was in full swing, and the fact that one of Dream’s arms was near useless from his injury only added extra difficulty. George ended up having to loop arms with him to make sure Dream’s frail body didn’t fail him and send them both crashing to the ground. “Come on, Dream,” he huffed. 

Dream rested his head on the netherrack wall. “I can’t feel my fingers. This isn’t exactly easy.” 

George forced himself up a couple more feet, practically throwing his upper body over the side of the cliff.  _ Thank the gods,  _ his tired brain sang. “Give me a second,” he said, slipping the backpack off his shoulders. “Grab my hand.” 

Dream’s reddening fingers felt even colder than they had before. George tried to swallow his fear, but it was thick and heavy in his throat like a syrup. Dream hefted himself up beside him and curled into a ball, shivering. 

“Which way is the Antarctic Empire?” George knelt by Dream’s side and dug the compass out of one of the backpack’s side pockets.

“North,” Dream replied. “Can we take a break, please? I think I’m going to pass out.” 

“Absolutely not!” George grabbed Dream’s stiff hand and pulled him to his feet. “We’re going. Now.” 

The stretch of highway they’d climbed onto was empty, barren and certainly not as well-kept as the more central highways on which George was used to travelling. The cobblestone was crumbling, overgrown with twisting red roots, and the layer of red dust that covered the road made it clear that it was not frequently travelled. George gritted his teeth and brought the compass out his pocket.  _ That way’s North. Guess we better start walking.  _ “We’re going this way,” he said aloud. 

Dream groaned. “I can barely keep my eyes open.” 

“Then walk with them closed.” George put the backpack on his shoulders and felt it tug at the tired muscles of his back. Gods, he felt like shit. Both of them were in desperate need of food and water and especially rest, but George wouldn’t dare risk wasting a single second of travel time. “Grab onto the backpack and I’ll just pull you along, okay? We have to keep moving no matter what.” 

Dream did as he was told, his movement sluggish and slow. There was a sheen of sweat along the backs of his reddened palms. “How are you feeling?” George asked nervously. 

“Cold,” Dream replied in a low mutter. “Everything hurts.” 

“We’ll get you help at the Antarctic Empire, Dream. I promise.” George was glad Dream could not see his face, for he found himself unable to relax his jaw or shake the fear clouding his eyes. The nether was so awfully  _dark_ without his goggles on. George felt like something terrifying could jump out of the shadows at any moment. 

A quarter of an hour passed without issue. Both piglins and zombified piglins alike knew to stay away from the nether highways, and the low roof of the forest below kept any wandering ghasts from being able to come too near. And so they trudged along, Dream a heavy weight upon George’s back. Convincing him to keep moving became more and more of a challenge as the minutes passed. Dream was near tears by the time George rolled his ankle over a particularly bumpy root and finally forced them to stop.

“Holy shit.” Dream fell against the raised ledge and pulled his knees to his chest. “I have never felt so sick in my life. It feels like there are ants in my veins.” 

George passed him the canteen, now mostly empty. “Drink. You need it.” 

“I have never been so fucking cold before,” Dream hissed. 

George rubbed at the sore spot on his ankle. He’d ripped a small hole in the side of his leather boot. “That’s the magic of the nether fever — your body thinks you’re overheating. That’s why we need to get out of this hellscape and back into normal air.” 

Dream took a sip of the canteen water and grimaced. “Why was I never taught about this nice little phenomena?” 

“Fuck if I know,” George muttered. “It’s not a well-known thing.” 

“Well it fucking should be.”

George rubbed at his temple. “I should have known to cover the wound better. This is all my fault.” 

“Oh,” Dream kicked weakly at George’s leg. “Don’t start with that. You’re the reason I’m alive.” 

A herd of hoglins in the forest below burst into a cacophony of angry snorts. “There are piglins nearby,” Dream said. “We should start moving again.”

The reluctance in his voice made George’s heart ache. He hated seeing people in pain on a normal day; after all Dream had done for him, seeing him suffer was a special kind of awful. “Sounds good,” he replied, trying his best to smile. 

Dream chuckled lightly. “Don’t trip over any more roots, okay?” 

“There’s the Dream I know,” George smiled. “Trying to keep his stupid little king safe every step of the way.”

“Oh, come on now.” Dream turned his head away. “It’s my job.” 

They tucked the canteen back into the backpack and began once again on their long journey. A couple minutes in, George felt the gentle pressure of Dream’s hands on the backpack lighten, then jumped in surprise as two icy hands came to rest on either either shoulder. “Sorry,” Dream murmured. “Your skin is really warm.” 

Dream’s hands were comfier than George would have imagined; unsettlingly cold, yes, but quite refreshing in comparison to the suffocating nether heat. “Keep them there,” George said. “The cold is kind of nice.” 

Dream stumbled behind him but did not slow their pace. “Look at us. Such an efficient little partnership.” 

George raised his hands in the air as if he were celebrating. “Woohoo. I’ll get us a bottle of wine to share if we both make it out of this shit place alive.” 

Dream’s hands tightened on his shoulders as if he were giving George a hug. “I’ll hold you to that.” 

“You better.”

~

“The fuck was that?” 

George turned his head. Dream stood a couple feet behind him, axe and shield raised defensively. “The fuck was that?” He repeated. 

The world around them had been near silent for the past hour. “What was what?” George said.

Dream staggered around in a rapid circle, head snapping from side to side. “Do you not hear that? It’s like a fucking grumbling or something.” 

“Is it my stomach?” George asked with a chuckle. Dream ignored his attempt at a joke and continued to move from side to side like a nervous horse. “Dream, I haven’t heard anything for over an hour.” 

“Well I—“ Dream’s body froze. “Fuck.” 

George blinked. “What?” 

“We have to run.” 

_ “ What ?”  _

“I said to fucking run!” 

George’s mind was swimming. Dream passed him in a green blur, sprinting ahead on visibly unsteady legs. “Dream!” George cried. “Wait!” 

The ankle he’d rolled an hour or so earlier protested painfully as he broke into a quick jog, avoiding the clouds of red dust Dream had left in his wake.  _He’s delirious. We’re fucked._

“Dream! You’re hallucinating!” He tried to scream. “Slow down! It’s alright!”

Dream came to a sudden halt ahead of him, turning just in time to catch George by the arm as he practically smashed into Dream’s chest. “Stay here,” he ordered. “I’m going down there to find whatever the fuck is making that noise.” 

George grabbed his sleeve as he turned to leave and wrapped both arms around Dream’s forearm. “No you are not! You’re hallucinating, Dream. We need to keep walking.”

“I know what I heard!” Dream replied angrily. “Let me go!” 

“No!” George tightened his grip until his nails dug into Dream’s sleeve. “You are staying here with me whether you like it or not.” 

“I’m trying to protect you!” Dream yanked his arm backwards but was too weakened from the fever to throw George off of him. “There’s something down there! It’ll kill us!” 

“Then keep running with me!” George cried. “We’re staying together, Dream. You are not running off.”

Dream made a low groan of annoyance. “Fine! Let’s go!” 

They took off running again, George barely able to keep pace with Dream as he shot ahead.  _ Keep him running and keep him in view.  _ George’s lungs were on fire. His throat was lined with ash.  _ Hold out for me, Dream. Don’t leave me alone out here.  _

Dream crumpled suddenly as if he’d been tripped. George watched him try to rise, only to collapse back onto his stomach and curl onto his side, holding his hands against his chest. “Dream!” George screamed. He practically threw himself onto his knees beside Dream, ignoring how the brick scraped his already sore knees, and rested a hand on the crook of Dream’s shoulder. 

“Dream,” George whispered. “You’re  _ warm _ _._ ” 

“I’m burning up!” Dream yanked his mask off and threw it across the highway. “I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!” 

The blueish pallor he’d possessed for the last couple hours had been replaced by alternating splotches of jaundice and a deep redness that crawled unsettlingly quickly up Dream’s face, neck and arms. His forehead was dry and burning hot against George’s fingertips. “I’m so hot,” he groaned. “I think I’m dying.” 

Terror filled George’s chest, sucking the air from his lungs.  _ Not now. Not yet. Please.  _ He caught Dream’s head in his hands as his eyes rolled back, fluttering rapidly. “Stay with me, Dream,” George commanded in as strong of a voice as he could muster, “You can’t faint on me. You have to be strong.” 

Dream licked at his cracking lips. “Water. I need water.” 

The canteen was nearly empty. George gulped, feeling the weight of his own dry tongue in his mouth. “Here.” He wetted the corner of his sleeve and pressed the canteen to Dream’s lips. As Dream drank, George propped his head up on his knee and rubbed at his forehead with the corner of the sleeve he’d doused. The water sizzled and evaporated quickly in the nether air but hearing Dream’s audible sigh of relief as he let the empty canteen clatter to the ground put a slight bit of George’s fear at bay. 

Dream’s constricted eyes focused on something behind George and narrowed. “I see...” he mumbled. “I see something.” 

George held down his shoulder as he made to get up. “You’re delirious,” He said gently. “It’s nothing.” 

Dream squirmed uncomfortably. “No! There’s someone there!” 

George twisted around and stared down the expense of the highway. His heart jumped. Sure enough, there was a lone figure riding out of the reddish fog on a cart drawn by a single hulking horse. George jumped to his feet, waving his hand in the air. “Hey!” He yelled. “Over here!” 

The figure kicked their horse to a quick trot upon noticing them, raising their hand as well in acknowledgement. They were human, seemingly male, dressed in black from their hooded cape to their lace-up boots. George noticed with a chill that they wore a purple cage-like mask over their mouth, masking the lower half of their face. The man pulled his horse to a stop before them. 

“Hello,” George said nervously. 

The man looked them over with narrowed crimson eyes. “Are you two okay?” 

His voice was remarkably deep and raspy. George gulped. “No. My friend here has nether fever. We need to get to the Antarctic Empire as quick as possible.” 

“Antarctic Empire?” The man looked upwards for a second as if thinking, tapping the reins in his hand absentmindedly. He had several silver rings on his fingers. “That’s about an hour northward. I’ll pass the portal on my way to the Capital.” 

Excitement leapt up George’s spine like a current of electricity. “Can we hitch a ride with you?” He said. The man looked them over once more, focusing especially on Dream’s crumpled figure. George leaned in closer, speaking quietly to prevent Dream from listening. “Please. He could be dead within the hour.” 

The man closed his eyes and nodded. “Hop on. Don’t let any of my barrels go loose, though.” 

George’s face split into a wide grin. “Thank you so much. I’m in your debt, sir.” 

The man let out a low but friendly chuckle as George got Dream settled in the back of the cart and only barely managed to swipe the mask from beneath the horse’s hoof before it was crushed. “Call me Corpse. And no need to repay me. Letting you two hitch a ride is no skin off my ass.” 

Corpse tapped his horse on the flank with his crop and the cart squealed into motion. George propped himself against one of the cart’s walls and took the first proper breath he’d had in hours. They could be in the Antarctic Empire in a few hours. They could be  _ safe _ in a few hours. 

George rested his hand on Dream’s shoulder as he curled up against a box, moaning under his breath. “Don’t sleep,” he said. “I need you to stay awake with me.” 

“I feel like I’m going to puke,” Dream replied weakly. His body shuddered, dribbling sweat down his forehead. George felt concern gnaw at the back of his mind.

“It’ll be at least an hour before we hit the portal. Feel free to nap if you wish,” Corpse called back to them. 

George pursed his lips. His eyelids were iron-laden and keeping Dream awake any longer than he already had seemed to toe the line into torture. They both needed rest. Desperately. “Fine,” he said, mostly to himself. “We’ll sleep.” 

Corpse twisted sideways to give them a thumbs up. “I’ll wake you two up when we get to the portal, okay? Nothing to worry about.” 

_ Nothing to worry about.  _ George’s injured ankle prickled with pain. He ignored it.  _ We’ll be fine.  _ Dream tossed and turned in his sleep, murmuring in a voice barely loud enough to hear.  _ We’re almost there, Dream. Stay alive for me.  _

The bumping of the cart was soothing. Dream was beside him, still breathing, still alive.

George rested his head against the cart wall and watched the endless netherrack ceiling roll by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohohohoho!!! Little miss Ophie loves her nether lore. It does make her little pea brain so happy.
> 
> What do y’all think of this chapter? Enough hurt to deserve some good comfort? ;p 
> 
> Stay safe and stay cheesin! Wear your masks!
> 
> -Ophelia


	11. Beneath The Open Sky

“Where do you come from, Corpse?” 

Corpse started as if startled by George’s voice. “I, uh—“ he coughed. “I thought you were asleep.” 

George chuckled in embarrassment. “I’m bored.” 

“Ah, that’s fine.” Corpse gave his horse a gentle tap. “I’m a nomad, really. My work has me travel a lot.” 

George swung one of his legs over the cart’s side and scooched up until he was sitting by Corpse’s side. His free leg dangled over the cobblestone path, swinging lightly. “What do you do? I saw a whole bunch of knives and shit in the cart. Are you a soldier or hired hand?” 

Corpse rumbled out a low laugh. “Not exactly. People pay me to read books aloud to them. It’s a hit amongst rich people.” 

George remembered when his father brought in narrators for his tea parties. He had found them to be exceptionally boring. Who wanted to sit and read aloud all day? “Ah, I see. People love the deep voice, right?” 

“Yeah,” Corpse chuckled. “What do you and your partner do?” 

“My—“ George’s face flushed. “Oh, we’re not —he’s not my— it’s a—“ 

“Chill out,” Corpse raised a dark eyebrow. “I meant business partners. You two look like hired hands.” 

“He’s my bodyguard,” George blurted. “And my friend. It’s a weird situation.” 

Corpse nodded. George could have sword that he was smiling beneath his toothy mask. “A weird situation. Got it.” 

_I am so glad Dream is still asleep._

Dream hadn’t moved much in the last half hour. George kept a close eye on him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder or head if he grew still for too long. He’d only continued to grow hotter as the minutes ticked by. Corpse had a small amount of water on him, but Dream sweated out how much he drank almost immediately. And so he lay curled on George’s cape, sweat wafting out from under his mask in steamy vapour as if he were a hot cooking pan. It was odd, to say the least, to see him so vulnerable. 

In a small, selfish way, George felt invigorated. He’d  _ saved _ him. He’d actually done something for himself, no help needed. For the first time in his whole life, George felt like a person of his own. It was definitely odd to feel so confident in the middle of hell, covered in dried blood and stinking of sweat, riding on the cart of a scary narrator he’d never met before while the man who’d been tasked to keep him safe lay half-conscious mere metres away, but the word ‘odd’ had become quite familiar to George in the last couple days.

“That’s it.” Corpse pointed forward. A large portal decorated in quartz and lapis and flecks of gold loomed out of the fog, startlingly bright against the nether’s gloomy darkness. George’s heart leapt.  _ We’re here. _

Two winged guards stepped forward as Corpse trotted up to them, spears raised. Neither of them could have been older than twenty. “Identification?” 

Corpse reached into his pocket for his pocketbook, but George stopped him with a gentle hand. “I’ll take it from here.” 

Corpse furrowed his brow. “What do you—“ 

George hopped off the cart, trailing his hand along the hulking stallion’s side as he went. Both guards stiffened immediately. “Your Highness?”

Corpse went still. _“_ _ Huh? ”  _

George felt his shoulders straighten as he slipped back into his royal role, comfortable and familiar. “Go send a message to King Phil immediately. Tell him that King George and Dream are seeking asylum. Dream is severely injured.” 

The guards looked at each other, white-faced, then the smaller sprinted off into the portal’s purple mist and disappeared. George turned back to Corpse, who looked rather rattled, and laid a hand on his leg. “Thank you for your help. I’ll repay you for this when I’m able.” 

“No problem, man,” Corpse chuckled nervously. “I mean — your Highness.” 

George waved a hand dismissively. “George is fine. You’ve earned it.” 

The guard returned with two more guards in tow. “The messenger has been sent, your Highness,” he told George rapidly. “There is first aid supplies waiting for you in the overworld.” 

George nodded. “Thank you. Dream’s in the back of the cart. His left shoulder is injured, so be careful when moving him.” 

The guards disappeared around Corpse’s cart, reappearing with Dream between them being carried beneath the armpits. “George,” he murmured. “Where are we?” 

“The Antarctic Empire,” George smiled. “We made it, Dream. We’re okay.” 

Dream’s head lolled onto one of the shoulders of the guards. “Okay,” he said. “We’re okay.” 

“Is his shoulder injury the only injury sustained?” Said a tall, red-haired guard as he helped George into the portal. Dream’s knees buckled, sending a ripple of concern throughout the guards as they scrambled to pick him up. 

George shook his head. “No. I believe he’s got nether fever.” 

The guard froze. “Nether fever?” 

A rush of snowflakes hit George’s face like a swinging fist. He blinked instinctively, losing his bearings in the writhing kaleidoscope of wings and guard uniforms as what seemed like dozens of them swarmed around the portal. They were screaming. Someone had a hand on George’s wrist, pulling him away.

“Get him back in the nether!” 

“No! Get him inside!”

Something let out a awful, strangled croaking sound. The croaking then shifted, familiarizing itself into a bone-curdling scream George recognized with a jolt of terror. 

“Dream!” 

A guard swooped in, wings outstretched protectively, and bustled George off to the side. “Get him inside!” One of the other guards cried. Dream’s figure lay on a stretcher between them, writhing and twisting in a way bodies were not meant to. His hands were a dark, sickening purple. 

“Dream!” George clawed at the guard’s wings.  _ I need to get to Dream. I need to get to Dream. He’s dying. He’s dying and it’s my fault.  _

The guard holding him back twisted his head and raised a hand in the air. “Prince Technoblade!” He cried. “I’ve got him!” 

“Dream!” George dove beneath the guard’s wing, running half-blind through the snowstorm. He could barely think, barely breathe, barely feel his fingers or toes. 

Another pair of arms caught him, strong enough to nearly immobilize him. A low voice spoke into George’s ear, yanking him out of his panic-induced haze so quickly it made him nauseous. 

“Hold tight. I’m going to fly you to the castle.” 

George did as he was told nearly robotically. Prince Technoblade’s dark wings were stark against the storm whirling around them, dazzlingly fast as they rocketed into the air together with George clutching Technoblade’s coat like a lifeline. Within moments they’d arrived at the castle doors and were ushered inside. “Where’s Dream?” George tugged on Technoblade’s sleeve. They passed by a doorway from which two little familiar faces were poking out with wide eyes. 

“He’s in the infirmary, sir,” Technoblade replied politely. “He’ll be alright. I promise.” 

“I need to be in there!” George said. “Are you taking off his mask? Is he awake?” 

Technoblade laid a stern hand on George’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly in what seemed to be an odd attempt at being comforting. “I’ll make sure he has privacy. You may see him when you’ve calmed down a bit.” 

“I—“ George put his face in his hands. “I need to sit down. This is all happening so quickly.” 

“Come with me. I’ll take you to my dad.” 

Technoblade ushered him into a small waiting room with a single sweep of his wing and closed the door behind them. “You can lay down if you’d like. Nobody but my dad is allowed to come in here.” 

George hadn’t realized he’d begun to tremble. Staring down at his shaky hands, he collapsed on a blue-cushioned couch and pressed his palms into his eyes. “Thank you, Prince Technoblade.” 

“Call me Techno. Royal titles are a mouthful.” 

George tried to smile. “In that case, call me George. I get the feeling I may be here for a while, so to hell with the titles and shit.” 

Techno bowed his head respectfully. “I’ll go get my dad and check on Dream. You try to relax. Our team of medics is incredibly talented.” 

He turned on his heel and left. For the first time in days, George was completely and utterly alone.  _ We’re here. We’re safe. We made it,  _ He tried to tell himself. The pit in his stomach stayed firm. Any relief he felt was muted and empty.

George had never liked being alone. 

The door opened once again. George sat up, expecting to see King Phil, but was surprised to see another figure poke its head into the room.

“Prince Tommy?”

“George!” Tommy erupted into a flash of cream-coloured feathers and launched himself into George’s arms before George had processed that he’d even crossed the room. “I was so worried about you!” 

Tommy’s downy wings spilled little feathers onto George’s lap as they flapped excitedly. His breath smelt of sour berries. He was a tiny thing, no taller than George’s shoulder, but his grip on George’s chest was as strong as any soldier’s. George hugged him close, pressing his nose into Tommy’s mop of fluffy hair. “Hey, kid. Long time no see, huh?” 

Another figure moved in the doorway. It was the half-enderman boy Dream had frightened mere days earlier, playing with his thumbs. George gave him a friendly smile. “I remember you. I’m George.” 

“That’s Ranboo! My friend!” Tommy said excitedly. Ranboo’s lamb-like ears flattened and he smiled nervously, displaying a mouthful of sharp teeth. George gave him a small wave.

“We had no idea you were even alive!” Tommy maneuvered himself out of George’s lap, kneeing him several times in the gut, and curled up on the cushion beside him with his chin resting on his knees. His eyes were wide with excitement. “The Eretians wouldn’t return my dad’s letters and refused to give straight answers to our messengers. The whole continent thinks you’re dead! I personally thought you’d been captured because King Eret definitely would have put your heads on sticks if—“

“That’s enough, Tommy. Don’t be gruesome.” 

King Phil moved past Ranboo into the doorway, dressed in the Antarctic Empire’s lavish regalia. “Go see if your brothers need help with anything. I’d like a moment alone with King George.” 

Tommy pouted. “But Dad, I—“ 

“That’s an order, Tommy.” 

Tommy darted out the door, leaving a trail of little feathers in his wake, and disappeared with Ranboo at his side. “Please excuse the feathers,” said Phil with a slight flush. “A certain little prince is experiencing his first flight feather moult. He’s a bit hyperactive these days.” 

“No worries,” George replied. He stood, somewhat shaky on his feet, and held out his hand. To his surprise, Phil moved closer and wrapped him in a tight hug. The material of his fluffy cape was soft against George’s cheek. 

“I was so frightened that something awful had happened,” Phil whispered. “I’m very glad to see you safe.” 

George felt his throat tighten, though he wasn’t quite yet ready to admit why. “Thank you, Phil. I’m glad Dream knew to come here.” 

Phil pulled back, resting his hands on George’s shoulder. “Ah, Dream. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” 

A jolt of anxiety ran up George’s spine. “Is he okay?” He asked nervously.

“Yes, thankfully,” Phil said. “But you’re lucky that my guards recognized the danger he was in as quick as they did. Throwing someone with nether fever into a very cold climate all at once can be quite deadly. They must be acclimated to different temperatures gently.” 

George sat back on the couch and put his head in his hands. “I should have known. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re young. No need to apologize.” 

“So will Dream be okay?” 

Phil nodded, his silvery crown glinting in the sunlight streaming in from the massive windows. “Of course he will. His capillaries burst, but the worst that will do is leave him with some harmless spider veins on his hands and face. That shoulder wound will take him out of commission for a week or two, though. Blaze shrapnel can be quite damaging to muscle tissue. I’ll assign you another bodyguard while he heals.”

The heavy weight that had settled on George’s shoulders lightened, and George took what felt like his first unencumbered breath of air in days.  _ Dream is going to be okay. I didn’t kill him.  _ “That’s fine. I’m glad he’s okay.” 

Phil crossed the room and strode to one of the windows, staring out for a moment before speaking again. “Is this your first invasion?” 

George sighed. “Yeah.” 

“Well, welcome to the world of being a king. I’m actually surprised the Eretians waited this long to try and take over. They’re quite aggressive.” 

“Yeah, the knife to the side I got made  _that_ quite clear.” George paused, seeing Phil’s face twist in concern. “I got it healed. Don’t worry about it.” 

Phil raised an eyebrow. “You’ve sure had a rough couple days.” 

“I don’t even want to talk about it.” 

“Then I’ll leave you to rest. I have rooms for you up on the second floor. You may know some of the—“

“Can I see Dream?”

Phil paused. “What?”

“Am I allowed to see Dream yet?” George repeated quietly. “I need to see that he’s okay with my own eyes.” 

Phil gave him a warm smile and extended his arm for George to take his hand. “Sure. Then I’ll get you settled in your room.” 

A particularly painful ball of grief bubbled in George’s chest as Phil walked him down the palace’s glimmering halls with one wing pressed against George’s back.  _ Your fatherly tenderness usually annoys me,  _ George thought.  _ But now that everything’s gone to shit, I could really use a dad right now.  _

They reached a pair of white double-doors. Phil held George back as he went to open them. “Let me go in first.” 

George breathed a sigh of anxiety out his nose. “Alright. I’ll be here.” 

Phil disappeared into the dimly-lit room, leaving the door an inch or two ajar. George leaned in to listen, unable to stave off his curiosity, but the voices that drifted from the crack in the door were too hushed to understand. The room smelt of herbs and sterility and the light tang of blood.

Prince Technoblade was the one to open the door and let him in. George tried to ignore the dark droplets speckled on the ends of his sleeves. “You have medic training?” George said quietly. 

Techno shrugged. “A little. I like to help out.” 

Dream lay on a small cotton-sheeted cot beneath a shuttered window, motionless except for the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest. His injured shoulder was propped up by pillows and wrapped in thick bandages that circled around his chest and neck. A damp cloth lay over his face, masking all features except for his lips.

“He’s on several painkillers,” said Techno in a low murmur. “So keep your voice down. He’ll be sensitive to light and noise for a while.” 

George nodded silently. Techno glided across the room, surprisingly light on his feet for such a tall man, and placed several empty potion bottles back into a cupboard before slipping out a door at the other end of the room. They were alone.

“Who’s there?” 

George looked down. Dream’s eyelashes were fluttering beneath the cloth. “The hell’s on my face?” He muttered blearily. 

“A cloth,” George replied. “I told them you wanted privacy.” 

“Who’s in here with you?”

“Nobody. It’s just us.” 

Dream sighed quietly. “Take... take it off. It’s hurting my eyes.” 

With gentle hands, George peeled back the damp fabric and set it aside, allowing Dream to mumble in discomfort as his eyes adjusted to being open. There were splotches of red in the whites of his eyes where the capillaries had burst. Purple spider veins crawled up his cheeks and up the side of his nose, stopped only by the gashes of white scar tissue that made up Dream’s face wounds. Yet, in some strange way, Dream looked better than he had in days. There was colour in his mottled skin, brightness in his eyes, almost as if the spirit of Dream himself had returned to his battered body in full force. 

“How do you feel?” George chuckled.

“Swaddled,” Dream replied. “Oh, and like somebody just let a thousand horses kick me in the face. Overall, kind of shit.” 

“You’re sure looking a little rougher than usual.” George brushed the bandage along Dream’s brow bone with a light finger, making him wince. “King Phil says I’ll be getting a new bodyguard while you’re healing.”

Dream scowled. “Bullshit. I’ll be fine in like, two days.” 

“You look like you’ve been eaten and then shat out by a hoglin.” 

“Don’t make me laugh!” Dream grabbed his chest, groaning. “It hurts.” 

George pulled a nearby chair up to Dream’s bed and sat in it, pulling his knee up to rest his chin. “That’s why you’re going to be taking a break. I can’t risk you dying again.” 

Dream’s face hardened into a solemn frown. “It’s not your job to worry about me. I have to protect you.” 

“Then do as I say and rest.” 

“So what, I just have to sit here and lay around all day?” 

George fought back the urge to groan. “Yes. That’s kind of the point of resting.”

Dream curled his lip, pulling on the corner of his mouth puckered by a scar. “I’m going to go crazy in here. I hope you know that. So you can blame yourself when I inevitably go apeshit and punch someone.” 

George sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. _There’s the Dream I know. Half-dead but still petulant and stubborn as an ox._ “If I hear that you’ve punched anyone, I’ll fire you on the spot.” 

“You can’t do that!” Dream said angrily. 

“Keep your fists to yourself and you won’t have to worry about what I can and cannot do!” George replied. “I’ll be sure to visit you and keep you from being too bored. In exchange, you will listen to the medics and not act like a uncivilized beast. Deal?”

“I’d cross my arms if one of them didn’t hurt like a bitch right now.” Dream blew an exasperated huff of hair through his nose. “Fine. But get on my case about complaining and you’ll be the one I punch.” 

An idea popped into George’s head. “I could teach you to read!” 

Dream did his best to raise an eyebrow, which was difficult with the bandage that sat on his brow bone. “Now?” 

“Why not?” George exclaimed. “You said you wanted to learn to read. It’ll keep you busy, too!” 

“Are... Are you serious?” Dream said. 

George nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! I think it could be fun. Not like we’ve got much else to do until we state a coup or the Eretians open themselves up to negotiations.” 

Dream stared at the ceiling, pulling at a lock of his hair as he thought. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t be a dick about it if I don’t learn quickly.”

“Deal.” George smiled. 

The door behind them burst open and slammed into the nearby walls. Dream threw his uninjured hand over his face instinctively. 

Two figures stood in the doorway, panting. “Guys!” 

Dream let his hand fall. _“_ _ Sapnap? ”  _

George’s heart stopped for a moment. _“_ _ Quackity? ”  _

Their voices joined into a panicked unison: “What the hell are you doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two unfinished WIPs and all my pea brain wants to write is a MCYT hunger games au 
> 
> god damn it 
> 
> I hope y’all liked this chapter! Seeing everyone so happy abt corpse’s cameo made me really happy. I’ve been a fan of him since his horror narration days and seeing him succeed makes me happy to no end! 
> 
> praise bingus 
> 
> -Ophelia


	12. Cool Kids

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

Tommy poked his head into the darkened infirmary. “It’s fine,” he whispered back. “We’re just going to look at them.” 

Ranboo frowned, gnawing at his lip. “What if... what if  _he_ wakes up?” 

“He won’t if we’re sneaky!” 

“Why do you even  _ want _ to look at them?” Ranboo shrunk into himself as Tommy opened the infirmary door with a light squeak and slipped inside with his wings folded tightly against his body. “We’ve already seen them! Remember when one nearly sliced my face in half? I sure do!”

“If Dream is going to be staying in my castle,” Tommy said, “Then I’m going to go see his super-cool murder axes at least once. This could be our only chance!” 

The early rays of the sunrise had warmed the tiled floor beneath Tommy’s feet, casting the paleness of the infirmary in different shades of orange and yellow. Ranboo remained pressed to the wall as Tommy ventured deeper into the room, mouth pulled into a tight, nervous line. “Your dad will be furious if he finds out.” 

Tommy turned to his friend and pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t be so loud!”

Ranboo’s ears flattened against his mis-matched hair. “Just saying,” he muttered. 

“Go back up to bed if you’re so worried, then!” 

“But I wanna see the axes too!” 

“Then stop being a little bitch and come here!” 

All the infirmary beds Tommy could see were empty and neatly-made. Had Dream already been moved to his room on the second floor?  _ That _ would surely throw a wrench into Tommy’s brilliant plans. Sneaking into a royal bedroom was a whole different level of dangerous.

“Look under the beds,” Tommy said. “I bet that’s where he’s hiding them.” 

Ranboo teleported in front of him, eyes the size of dinner plates. He jabbed an inky finger in the direction of one of the beds in the corner, hidden by white curtains. 

_ Oh, this is going to be good.  _

Tommy pushed Ranboo forward. “Open them.”

“What?” Ranboo whispered shrilly. “You do it! This was your idea!” 

“I’m telling  _ you _ to do it!” 

“I don’t want to do it!”

“I don’t care!” 

Ranboo teleported behind him, wringing his hands together. “Absolutely not. You do it!” 

“Pussy.” Tommy fluffed his wings in Ranboo’s face, making him squeak in surprise. “Watch this.” 

He reached for the cotton curtain, only for it to be yanked out of his hands. Dream’s porcelain mask leaned in close until Tommy’s nose was nearly touching it.

“You’re not allowed to be in here.” 

Those who knew Tommy well knew there were three things about him that were crucial to know if you were to be in his presence. They went as such:

One: Tommy‘s favourite food was a sour-berry tart, but only the kind with the frosting on top. 

Two: Tommy was incredibly awesome and all women loved him.

Three: Tommy really, _really_ hated being startled.

Dream had obviously not been briefed on rule three. 

Tommy’s fist landed straight between Dream’s beady eyes, knocking him backwards. He fell against his bed, shouting in pain. Tommy took a running start to escape only to have his legs kicked out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. Dream grabbed Tommy’s ankle with an inhumanly-strong hand and yanked him across the floor until he was laying on the ground before Dream’s knees, staring up at that unnerving mask he’d already begun to hate. Ranboo, in the chaos, simply pressed himself back up against the wall and buried his face into his hands. 

“You dick!” Tommy shrieked. “That hurt!” 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Said Dream angrily. “Trying to spy on me or something? You little creep!” 

Tommy kicked at Dream’s legs, sending his moulting feathers scattering everywhere as his wings flapped erratically. “Let me go, dickhead!” 

“Not until you tell me what the hell you were doing slinking around my infirmary room at five in the morning!” 

“I wasn’t—“ Tommy freed his ankle from Dream’s grip and skittered backwards— “I wasn’t  _doing_ anything. This is my palace. I live here. I can go where I want.” 

Dream’s hand clenched and unclenched several times. “Were you trying to see my face? Is that what this is about?” 

Tommy felt the thorns of anxiety begin climbing up his throat. Dream looked a lot bigger than he remembered. “No!” He said, keeping his voice steady. “We wanted to see your axes!” 

“Bullshit! I should get King Phil down in here to beat  _both_ of your sorry asses.” Dream jabbed a finger at Ranboo, who flattened himself further against the wall with tear-filled eyes. “You two were trying to see my face. I know you were.” 

“We weren’t! I promise!” Ranboo squeaked. Just the axes!” 

Hearing the wobble in Ranboo’s voice, Dream’s angry posture softened. He pressed his fingers to his mask as if pinching the bridge of his nose. “I— my gods,” he said under his breath. With an exhausted groan, Dream maneuvered himself back into his bed and stuffed a pillow beneath his injured arm. Techno hadn’t been kidding when he’d said they’d used two whole rolls of bandages to wrap up Dream’s blaze wound. The dark splotches beneath the bandages covered an area bigger than Tommy’s whole hand. “You two idiots are lucky that the painkillers Prince Technoblade gave me have me walking on clouds,” Dream said. “My axes are under my bed. You can  _ look _ _._ No touching.” 

Tommy brightened immediately. “You won’t tell my dad?” 

“I’m feeling nice today, plus the last thing I want King George finding out is that I made a child cry on my first morning here.” 

Ranboo wiped at a tear dribbling down his chin, chuckling lightly. “I get startled easily.” 

Tommy dropped to his knees and pulled out one of Dream’s axes from where they sat neatly-folded in white sheets. “Aether above,” he said in awe, “These things are awesome!” 

He ran his fingers along the dark, glimmering surface of the axe, ignoring Dream’s light squawk of indignation. Ranboo appeared at his side, mouth wide open. “Netherite!” He cried. 

Netherite was the coolest ore on the planet, no doubt about it. Forged out of centuries of pressure and nether heat, it was blast-proof, fire-proof, and practically indestructible in most other ways. Tommy grabbed the engraved spruce handle, felt the enchantment thrum beneath his fingers, and couldn’t stop himself from screaming, “This is so fucking cool!” 

Dream snorted. “It’s full netherite too, not plated. There isn’t a single crumb of diamond in those things.” 

The door behind them opened, bringing in a gust of brisk morning air that made Tommy’s wings bristle. “What’s going on here?” Said a familiar voice, groggy with sleepiness. “I heard screaming.” 

Dream straightened. “Your Highness,” he said. “I had some surprise visitors. They wanted to see my axes.” 

Tommy turned to see George leaning on the door-frame, dressed in a pair of Techno’s old pyjamas. He smoothed down a patch of his ruffled hair and raised an eyebrow. “At five in the morning?” 

“Like I said—“ Tommy felt the heat of Dream’s glare on his back— “They were surprise visitors.”

“Hm.” George pursed his lips. “Well, you should get back to bed. You shouldn’t even be sitting up right now.” 

Tommy grabbed Ranboo’s hand, making him jump. “Well,” he exclaimed. “Thanks for letting us see your axes! We’ll be off now!” 

George’s face twisted into a frown as they blew by him, giggling like children, but Tommy could have sworn he saw George wink as he passed. Down the hallways they ran, past the couple cooks and maids that had begun their daily duties, and into Tommy’s cluttered bedroom. “We have to write to Tubbo!” Tommy said, pulling out a quill and piece of paper from his desk. “He’ll be so jealous!” 

Passing the quill and paper to Ranboo, Tommy flung himself onto his unmade bed and brushed some of his moulting feathers off his sheets. Moulting was fun, knowing more of his flight feathers would soon come in, but Aether above, was it ever messy! 

“What do I say?” Ranboo kicked a couple scattered books away from the floor by Tommy’s bed and stretched out with one hand under his chin. “Dear Tubbo...” 

“Uh—“ Tommy leaned his head over the side of his bed and watched Ranboo write out his words in small, neat letters— “Life is awesome right now. Dream and George are living with us and Ranboo and I got to see Dream’s axes. They were very poggers and—“ 

Ranboo looked up at him with a tilted head. “What does poggers mean?” 

“It’s part of our secret language,” Tommy replied smoothly. “It means ‘super awesome’. You can use it now too if you want because you’re our friend.” 

Ranboo grinned. “Poggers. I like that.” 

“Don’t forget to mention that I punched Dream in the face.” Tommy held back a giggle. “That was so fun.” 

Ranboo put the quill down and read back the sentence he’d wrote. “ _‘_ _I punched Dream in the face today and didn’t even get in trouble for it. It was awesome.’_ Does that work?” 

“Perfect. He’s going to be  so jealous.” 

Jealous Tubbo was always fun to deal with. Perhaps he’d stomp all the way over to Tommy’s kingdom just to get the chance to punch Dream himself, just like he’d done when Tommy had told him that he’d managed to win five ring-toss games in a row. Now  _ that _ would be something Tommy would want to see. 

“Alright,” Ranboo folded the letter in half and passed it to Tommy. “Think your dad is up yet?” 

Tommy stood, wings outstretched, and tapped Ranboo on the top of his head with his foot. “Of course he is! I don’t think he ever sleeps. Let’s go see him.” 

Something was off about Tommy’s father as they burst through the doors of his office. Tommy noticed the difference immediately. Phil wasn’t sat by the fire as he usually was at that time of the morning, nor was he bent over his desk scribbling king stuff Tommy didn’t understand into miles of parchment. That morning, he stood in the middle of the room, holding several letters in his hands. A wide-eyed mailman stood beside him, mouth tightened into a small frown. 

“Tommy,” Phil said immediately. “Not now.” 

The gravity in his tone made Tommy freeze. His father took his work seriously, but he always made sure to do it with a smile. When they’d gotten the news that the SMP kingdom had been invaded and that George and Dream were missing, Phil had sat him down by the fireplace and held him as he cried, explaining how he’d help make the situation right. Not once had he let his own worry or unhappiness show. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Dad, I—“ Tommy held up the letter. “I just wanted to give you this. It’s to Tubbo.” 

Phil’s jaw moved as if he were biting his tongue behind his lips. He muttered a curse. “Leave the letters with me,” he told the squirrelly mailman. “Return to duties as normal. You will be updated on any changes promptly.” 

The mailman nodded and left in a hurry, giving Tommy the smallest of bows as he bustled by. “There’s trouble with the mail,” said Phil. “Manburg is refusing all our letters at the portal.” 

Tommy passed a nervous glance to Ranboo, whose eyes had taken on the familiar sheen of fear. “What? Why?” 

“That’s what we don’t know.” Phil walked back to his chair, tossing the pile of returned letters back onto his desk. “It’s nothing for you two to worry about, though.”

“But what about Tubbo?” Tommy exclaimed. “Is he in danger?” 

“Tubbo will be fine, my child.” Phil brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “Go get your brother for me.” 

“You only call me that when you don’t want to tell me something.” 

Something glinted in his father’s eyes. Tommy felt the bottom of his stomach fall away, sending all of his organs and the air in his lungs tumbling down a massive pit of dread. 

“I don’t have anything more to tell you,” Phil repeated slowly. “Go get Techno for me.” 

Ranboo grabbed Tommy’s wrist. His hand was shaking. 

“Is Tubbo safe, Dad?”

Phil blew out a long breath through his nose. Tommy felt the silence grip his throat like the the tendrils of a monster.

“Come and sit down.”

~

Given the week George had had, finding out Sapnap and Quackity had made it to the Antarctic Empire a mere day before them wasn’t as strange as it would have once been.

According to a very rapidly-spoken and long-winded story told by Quackity, the inhabitants of the castle had scattered soon after George and Dream had escaped into the woods. Sapnap and Quackity had met by chance on their way to the portal, and had thankfully been able to travel through before the Eretians seized control and closed it. They were then recognized by some of Sapnap’s old knight buddies who were working for the Antarctic Empire, who then allowed them to bypass the busier highways and take refuge in the castle. 

“It was the worst two days of my life,” Quackity had said, hugging George so tightly it had been nearly impossible to breathe. “Knights are so fucking annoying.” 

(Dream and Sapnap, in response, had raised simultaneous middle fingers. It was much funnier than George would ever admit.)

“Okay, I’m only marginally more accepting of this situation now that I know Sapnap is your new bodyguard until I’m better,” Dream said, popping the rest of a breakfast ball in his mouth. “He’s still not as good as me, but I’ll accept it because he’s my best friend.” 

George rolled his eyes. “I’m happy as long as that means you’ll take recovery seriously.” 

“I am taking recovery seriously!” Dream nabbed another breakfast ball off the plate on George’s lap and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. “I’m eating these disgusting breakfast balls and laying down. I’m a model patient right now.” 

_ I think I’ll get nauseous if I roll my eyes another time,  _ George thought to himself. Placing the book he held in the crook of his armpit, George broke one of the crimson breakfast balls Wilbur had brought them in half and popped a piece in his mouth. It was sour, tasting of oats and dried berries, with a grainy texture that left George’s tongue tingling. “They are not disgusting. Don’t be rude.”

Dream gave him a grimace that wrinkled the scar tissue over his nose. “Fine. They’re—“ his voice took on a faux-polite inflection— “Not my taste. I’d prefer some good bread and butter.” 

“Later. We have other things to focus on.” George pulled the book from under his arm and laid it on Dream’s lap. “Can you read the title at all?” 

Dream scanned the small, leather-bound book with narrowed eyes. “I really only know the letters that make up my name, so not really.” 

“It’s called ‘The Village That Went Mad’,” said George. “One of my personal favourites from when I was younger.” 

Dream cocked his head. “Never heard of it.” 

“It’s a murder mystery. People in this little isolated town start to get murdered overnight, so the villagers come together and try to figure out who it is. It’s super interesting! It’s not too difficult to read, either, since it’s a kids’ book. I think you’ll like it.” 

“Hm.” Dream didn’t look entirely convinced. “We’ll see. Read me the first couple pages.” 

George sat the book between them as he read, trailing a finger under the words. He watched Dream’s face out of the corner of his eye, but Dream’s expression remained tense and focused as he tried to follow along. “Fucking hell,” he murmured. “This looks impossible.” 

“It’s not as hard as you think.” George pointed to one of the names — Helga. “Recognize any of these letters?” 

“The ‘e’ and the ‘a’,” Dream replied. “But they’re in a different order, so I don’t know what sound they make.” 

“Helga.” George tapped the word with his finger. “Hell-gah. H-E-L-G-A.” 

Dream let out a nervous laugh. “I have never seen any of the other letters before, if I’m being honest.” 

“Really?” George said. “How familiar are you with the alphabet?” 

“The what?” 

_ Oh, this is going to be fun.  _

The door to the infirmary opened abruptly. Dream scrambled for his mask, but froze. “Your Highness!”

“Have you seen Tommy?” Phil rushed in and gave the room a quick scan. His neatly-braided hair was tousled, his mouth pinched into a tight line. 

George shook his head. “He’s missing?” 

“He—“ Phil rubbed at his temple— “I told him some bad news about Manburg and he ran off. You haven’t seen him?” 

“What’s wrong with Manburg?” Dream hurriedly buckled up his mask and tensed as if ready to rise. “Do you need my help?”

“No, rest, please,” Phil said. “I’ll explain it all later. I just need to find Tommy.” 

“No need!” Came a voice from the hallway. “I’ve got him here.”

Phil whirled to the side and his face flooded with relief. “Tommy!” He cried, kneeling with his arms outstretched. Tommy’s figure flew into them, crying hysterically. “Where did you find him?” 

Prince Wilbur’s head popped into the doorway and gave George and Dream a quick, polite wave. “On his way to the portal.” 

Tommy jabbed his finger in his brother’s direction, snot bubbling on his upper lip. “You said you weren’t going to tell!” 

“Kids, I—“ Phil rose to his feet, holding Tommy’s lanky figure on his hip. “Let’s not do this here. Upstairs, now.” 

“It’s really alright, Phil,” George cut in quickly. “What’s happened to Manburg?”

Tommy burst into another bout of loud sobbing. Phil gave a defeated sigh. “Nothing’s happened. Not definitively.” 

“Tubbo’s in trouble!” Tommy wailed, beating his fists against his father’s shoulder. “You said he was! You said he wasn’t safe!” 

“I said I had my  _ suspicions _ _,_ Tommy,” Phil replied. “We have no proof that Manburg is in any danger.” 

“Suspicions?” George and Dream shared a nervous glance. “You think they’ve been invaded?” 

Phil passed the hysterical Tommy to Wilbur and murmured something in his ear. Nodding, the young prince disappeared with his brother latched onto his side, sniffling into his wings. Once away from his sons’ watchful eyes, Phil visibly deflated. “I apologize for interrupting your morning,” he said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Tommy can be... unpredictable when he’s upset. I haven’t yet figured out how to handle him when he flies off the handle.” 

“Never apologize for your sons, Phil.” George motioned for him to sit on the bed next to them, which Phil did with a light chuckle. “Tommy’s young and afraid. I don’t blame him for being scared for his friend.”

Phil let out a soft groan, leaning over to put his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have even told him anything. It was a simple mail scare! Certainly not something to go and burden a boy who’s barely grown into his flight feathers with. My parenting skills worry me sometimes.” 

He chuckled softly. “And to think, your father used to tell me that I babied my boys.” 

“A mail scare?” George raised an eyebrow. “I’ll need you to elaborate on that.” 

“Our letters are being refused. That’s an early sign that something may be amiss at the portals. Now, the Eretians aren’t usually ones to attack twice at once, but—“

“It couldn’t be the Eretians!” George cut in. “They just invaded us a couple nights ago!” 

Phil grimaced. “That means almost nothing. The Eretians have a massive army. It’d be quite easy to split it over the two counties.” 

Dream leaned back against the metal bed frame, making it squeak. “Fucking hell, man. These dudes are maniacs.” 

“I dealt with King Eret’s father for several decades.” Phil’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t  seen their kind of crazy yet.” 

“They tried to  _murder_ George!” 

“Like father, like child. I was once gifted a poison dart to the throat on one of my birthdays.” 

Dream shuddered. “Brutal.” 

“So,” George said. “What now?” 

Phil stood, brushing the bits of dirt from Tommy’s shoes off his long robes. “We lie in wait until we’re needed. There’s nothing I can do until King Schlatt calls upon me to help.” 

“Keep me updated.” George straightened his shoulders. “I want to be of as much service as I can.” 

Phil gave him a warm smile that wrinkled the lines in the corners of his eyes. “As you wish, King George.” 

His eyes focused on something behind George,and with a poorly-hidden smile, he said, “Your first order of duty is to tell your knight to stop scrounging for breakfast balls beneath his bed before he rips a stitch.” 

George forced a smile as Phil left, listening to his laughter echo all the way down the hall. 

_If Dream wasn’t the only thing keeping me alive, I think I would have killed him already._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ranboo is very quickly becoming my favourite SMP character and I have no qualms with that go white boy go!!!!
> 
> c!Dream is making it harder and harder to write him as a cute simp knight bc all I wanna do is play ping pong with his stupid little head 
> 
> what do you guys think is gonna happen? I want to know what you guys are expecting 👀👀👀
> 
> -Ophelia


	13. Written Words

A week passed in the gentle monotony Dream had come to associate with life in the Antarctic Empire. He was, as Sapnap had once called him, a creature of habit, so as the days rolled by without news from their kingdom or the kingdom of Manburg, Dream found himself settling into a new yet manageable routine. Prince Technoblade, who’d unofficially deemed himself Dream’s head nurse, would wake him at the crack of dawn to give him painkillers and re-set his bandages. Nether wounds infected easily, so he was meticulous with his work and grew frustrated if the bandages had so much as shifted overnight. It was somewhat odd to see his old rival playing nurse, but endearing nonetheless. It at least gave Dream many opportunities to screw with him if he ever got too bored.

George would eventually saunter down in the late morning, carrying a cup of black tea in one hand and his book in the other. The rest of the morning would be spent — at least, in Dream’s opinion — in utter and total agony as George tried his damned hardest to teach him to read and write. In concept, it didn’t seem that hard, but whoever had invented English as a language had probably been a miserable sod who wanted to fuck everyone up the ass for generations to come. It was so difficult and so boring that it was  _ painful.  _

George placed a quill before him. “Write it out for me again.” 

“Again?” Dream balked. “I’ve done it three times!”

“And you’ve made mistakes every time! I want to see how much you’re taking in.” 

Dream grabbed the quill and set his jaw.  _ My name is Dream and I am a knight. My name is Dream and I am a knight.  _

George’s dark eyes watched him as he wrote. “Don’t stare,” Dream mumbled. “You’re making me nervous.” 

“Well, you’ve done well so far,” George replied. “Keep going.” 

The untidy letters on the page danced around in Dream’s mind.  _ Knight. Knight. K-N-I... _

“I can’t remember. I always get stuck on fucking ‘knight’. Aether Almighty.” Dream rubbed at his eyes with an ink-stained hand. “I’m done for today.” 

George stuck out his lip. “Come on, you can do this. K-N-I...” 

Dream slammed the quill onto the table with more force than he’d wanted. “I said I’m done.” 

He didn’t like the way George’s face creased as he frowned. There was pity in his eyes. Dream  _ hated _ pity. 

“Fine,” George said. “Want me to read to you?” 

_ Fucking finally.  _ “Yes,” Dream replied eagerly. “I have been waiting to hear more about Robin.” 

Reading by himself? Possibly one of the worst things Dream had ever done in his entire life. However, having George read to him was the highlight of his day. Books were far more interesting than he’d ever imagined. They reminded him of the occasional theatre plays he’d have to attend with George, except they were ones he could play out in his own mind. And, as much as he hated to admit it, The Village That Went Mad was infuriatingly interesting for a book meant for twelve-year-olds.

“Do you think they’re going to execute him?” George asked, grabbing the book from Dream’s bedside table. 

Dream swung his legs over the side of the bed and practically rolled onto it. His shoulder protested painfully. “Of course not! He’s a kid! They  have to know that he couldn’t have shanked Cornelius like that. Plus, the Cat Boy definitely would have heard him!” 

“They still executed the Cat Boy, though,” George flipped open the book to where he’d dog-eared one of the aging pages. “So who’s to say they won’t do Robin in too?” 

“Oh, I’ll cry.” Dream leaned his head back on the wall. “I have such a soft spot for kids.” 

George laughed aloud, unconvinced. “You’ve gotten into at least two physical fights with Prince Tommy in the last week and a bit. Call that a soft spot?” 

“My soft spot for Prince Tommy consists of not throttling him and that’s it.” 

A pang of guilt shot through Dream’s chest, killing the laugh in his throat. They’d barely seen the young prince since his outburst a week before. From what Technoblade would tell, he remained convinced that Prince Tubbo was in danger, even as Manburg began accepting and sending letters again. After a second attempt to run away only two days earlier, he’d been grounded and mostly kept to his room under his brothers’ supervision. “You know, I think us getting invaded traumatized that poor kid. Now he’s paranoid.” 

“He’ll be fine,” George said with a light sigh. “Manburg’s accepting letters again. They’ve got King Schlatt’s signature on them and everything. Kids are just odd sometimes.” 

“Have you heard directly from King Schlatt or Prince Tubbo?” Dream asked. “Are there, like, plans for another meeting?” 

“No. There really is no reason to.” 

“No reason? Your kingdom was invaded! The Eretians have shut down all the portals and banned anyone from coming or going!” 

George folded the book in his lap and gave Dream a stern glare. “Phil has sent letters to the Eretians warning them of the consequences if they don’t open themselves up to negotiations. That’s all we can do for now.” 

“Load of bullshit is what it all is,” Dream mumbled. “You should be rallying the armies and sending them in tonight.  _ That _ would get those little bastards out quick.” 

“And risk lives unnecessarily? Not a chance. Things can be done diplomatically sometimes, Dream. Not everything has to be violent.” 

Dream was glad his mask hid his eye roll.  _‘Diplomatically’ is my new least favourite word._ “Just start reading before you annoy me any more.” 

“Don’t be tart,” George scoffed. “I could leave you hanging.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Shut it. I’m trying to read.” 

~

“Alright, your Highness! Time for your daily walk!” 

George sighed. “Can you stop saying that like I’m a dog?” 

Sapnap strode into George’s lounge with his thumbs in his pockets, trailing specks of mud from his boots. “No, because that wouldn’t be as fun,” he said with a grin. “Get your boots on. Phil’s instructed me to take you out at least once a day to keep your brain working.” 

Alright, Phil. Your fatherly tenderness is back to being annoying.  “I can go walking in my own time.” George turned back to his tea and his book. “Go take Dream out! He needs a bodyguard more than me right now. I’m quite happy here with my pirate adventure story.” 

“He’s already coming! Said he knew you haven’t been out today either. I even asked Phil if I could bring Tommy, but he’s still feeling sick.” 

“Dream put you up to this?” George flipped the book shut, shoving the end of the tablecloth in as a bookmark. “I swear, a week off from work and he’s gone certifiably insane.” 

“Tell me about it. Dream’s never been able to stay in one place for more than twenty minutes his whole life. Being on bedrest is killing him.” 

Sapnap fiddled with the end of his scarf as George slipped on a pair of knee-high leather boots and one of Prince Wilbur’s old fleece-lined coats. “It’s so weird, just having to sit here and relax while waiting for the Eretians to do something. I feel like we should be preparing for war.” 

“It’s not as easy as that.” George wrapped a red scarf around his neck and felt it tickle his jaw. “Wars cost a lot, so we try to avoid them as much as we can. The Eretians may be happy to relinquish control of the kingdom if we give them a diamond mine or access to a forest for wood.” 

Sapnap scoffed. “So you’re basically rewarding them for invading? Sounds like bullshit!” 

“The Eretians have burnt all their bridges in terms of trading with any of the nearby countries. This is their only way of getting what they want.” George breezed past Sapnap and stepped into the hall, smiling at the gentle snow falling outside. “It’s much less lucrative than having good relationships with your fellow kings, make no mistake.” 

“I still think King Eret deserves to have their shit rocked.” Sapnap said with a grumble.

“Can’t argue with that.” 

Dream was waiting for them by the castle doors, bundled beneath one of Phil’s massive capes. He’d tucked some of his scarf into the straps of his mask to keep it in place. “Let’s go,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “This is the first time I’ve been allowed outside in a week and I have never been so excited to touch grass before.” 

Sapnap laughed. “You look like a toddler in that cape. Are you  _that_ cold?” 

“Prince Technoblade made me wear it!” Dream pouted. “He doesn’t want my bandages moving too much.” 

“I think it’s adorable.” Sapnap said, flicking Dream’s mask as he passed. “You look like a comfy little blob.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

A blast of cold air hit George’s face as Sapnap swung open the doors, tickling his cheeks with snowflakes. The sky was a single, even sheet of grey above them, the air just cold enough to bite at his ears and the tip of his nose. The winters back in the SMP kingdom were wet and dreary, a bother more than anything. But this? This was a proper winter. 

Dream let out a loud groan of relief. “I have never been so aroused by fresh air before.” 

“Everything you say makes me hate you a little more. I hope you know that.” Sapnap broke into a run and sprinted into the blustery courtyard, crunching the powdery snow beneath his boots. He grabbed the branch of one of the nearby trees, pulled it back, then let it swing forward again, sending a hail of packed snow and icicles down on top of them. “Watch out!” 

George managed to jump to the side and miss the brunt of the downpour, but Dream was not so lucky. “Sapnap!” He shrieked, shaking like a dog. “You got snow down my back!”

Sapnap leaned forward, cackling. “Is your dick still hard from all this nice fresh air?” 

“Oh, you—“ Dream sprinted forward, good arm outstretched, and only narrowly missed grabbing Sapnap’s arm as Sapnap sidestepped and kicked him in the back of the knees. Dream lost his balance and grabbed Sapnap’s sleeve as he fell, sending them both to the ground. Dream’s cape slipped off his shoulders and was kicked away by Sapnap’s flailing legs, leaving him only in a dark, woolen sweater under which George could see the outline of his thick bandages. “Having fun?” Dream taunted, pressing Sapnap’s face into the snow. “I have been stronger than you since we were fifteen, idiot!” 

“Dream! You can’t be fighting!” George exclaimed. “You’ll screw up your bandages.” 

“I don’t care!” Dream laughed. “I haven’t had this much fun in so long!” 

Sapnap squirmed out from underneath Dream and darted to George’s side. “Protect me, your Highness!” He wailed in a childlike falsetto, falling to his knees with his hands bunched in the fabric of George’s coat. “I am under attack!” 

Dream advanced on them slowly, packing a snowball in his hands. His smiling mask looked oddly terrifying. Sapnap jabbed a finger at him. “You wouldn’t fucking dare risk hitting your king! You wouldn’t!” 

“Dream,” George warned. “You’re injured, you shouldn’t—“ 

The snowball hit him dead in the nose. 

Sapnap scrambled away from the both of them, mouth agape in shock. “Oh— Dream,” he said quietly. “You are in deep shit now.” 

George blinked a glob of half-melted snow from under his eye. There was snow in his nose, in his ears, down his shirt. Slowly, methodically, he wiped the handful of snow off his face and flicked it onto the ground. Dream’s shoulders curled in sheepishly. 

“Sapnap,” George said. “Do your job, please.” 

Sapnap smiled nervously. “Huh?”

“You are my bodyguard. He just attacked me. Do the math.” 

“What? Uh—“ Sapnap’s eyes lit up. “Oh, of course! C’mere, Dream!” 

_ You know, maybe it’ll be worth having Technoblade give me a nice little scolding for letting Dream fool around.  _ George watched Sapnap tackle Dream into a snowbank and shove snow down his mask with the feeling of immature satisfaction blooming in his chest.  _ Because gods, if I’d have known I got to see this, I would have gotten hit with a snowball sooner.  _

He was ripped from his thoughts when Dream came careening towards him. “Come here!” He shrieked, laughing so hard he was wheezing. Dream picked him up under the armpits and the knees and held him sideways like a human shield. “Try me! Try me!” He yelled at Sapnap, who danced from side to side with two snowballs packed in his hands. “I have protection!” 

“Put me down!” George tried to sound serious, but a smile forced its way onto his face as Dream hoisted him up to block Sapnap’s snowball as it came flying towards them. “I am your king! This is inappropriate!” 

“If I hear you say that dumb fucking line one more time—“ Dream swung him sideways as Sapnap threw another snowball— “I am chucking you into the nearest snowbank!” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

Dream’s voice dropped to a challenging low.“Want to bet those odds?”

George squirmed to get free but Dream’s grip on his knees and around his chest was tight.  _ I am toeing a dangerous line here _ _,_ He thought with a rush of excitement. He caught Sapnap’s eye, who raised an eyebrow as if to say, ‘are you thinking what I’m thinking?’. 

_ Un-kingly things should not be this much fun.  _

With a massive grunt, George wrenched himself forward, causing Dream to stumble and lose his balance. Sapnap appeared over Dream’s shoulder, faster than what seemed humanly possible, and shoved a chunk of snow down the back of Dream’s shirt with a triumphant cry. 

“Fuck!” Dream’s back arched instinctively, but he still managed to catch George around the waist as he tried to squirm away. “Oh, you son of a bitch!” 

In a single deft motion, Dream dragged George sideways and threw him with all his might, sending him crashing into a powdery snowbank. The icy burn of half-melted snow shot up the back of George’s neck and down his spine. A moment or so later, Sapnap fell down hard next to him, wheezing. 

“Still got it!” Dream said triumphantly. “I am injured and yet still stronger than the both of you. Take that!” 

He burst into a round of cackling laughter, dancing from foot to foot as Sapnap forced himself back to his feet. “You’re such an ass,” Sapnap said, though the grin on his face negated any sharpness his words might have had. He grabbed Dream’s scarf and yanked it off him, dragging his mask askew.

“Hey!” Dream laughed. His face was flushed from exertion, dotting his scarred face with patches of red. George had never seen him grinning so widely before, nor had he seen the way his nose crinkled and his eyes scrunched closed as his laughter broke off into a sudden, high-pitched wheeze.

He was, to put it plainly, quite pretty. Something about that made George want to kick him in the ass.

“What are you staring at me for?” Dream asked.

George hadn’t realized he’d begun smiling. “I’m thinking about how much I’d like to have you executed right about now.” 

“Oh,” Dream purred. “You wouldn’t know what to do without me.” 

Another snowball landed between them. “Cut that shit out!” Sapnap said, his expression somewhere between amused and uncomfortable. “Phil’s coming.” 

The shadow of a quickly-moving figure arced over them and landed on the other end of the courtyard with a stumble. “King George!” Phil’s voice was tight, almost aggressive. “You need to come inside immediately.” 

“We were just playing,” Dream said nervously. “It was my idea to start brawling, not George’s—“ 

“That’s not why I’m here.” Phil cut Dream off with a sharp wave of his hand. He turned back to George, his usually calm features pale and puckered with worry. “I’m not able to carry you, so hurry as fast as you can. I’ll meet you in my office.” 

His great wings unfurled and he was gone in a flurry of feathers. Heart thumping in his chest, George turned to Dream and tried to say something, only to find the words dead on his tongue. Sapnap grabbed them both by the wrists. “What are you two standing there for? Let’s go!” 

George’s lungs were burning by the time they reached the looming doors of Phil’s office. Dream put a hand on his shoulder. “Want me to go in there with you?” He said. 

George turned to where Sapnap stood a couple feet behind them. “Meet me in George’s room after,” Sapnap said, his words a silent reassurance.  _ Go on without me.  _

George nodded and swallowed, his throat lined with ice. Dream grasped the ornate golden handle of one of the doors and, with a gentle squeeze on George’s shoulder, walked the two of them in. 

“We were mistaken, George. So mistaken.” Phil stood before the unlit fireplace, holding a letter between his hands so tightly the paper was taut and near ripping. “I should have known. Tommy was warning me. He _knew—“_

“Knew what?” George said. 

Without turning around, Phil thrust the letter in their direction. Dream darted to take it from his hands, and George saw him visibly stiffen as he read the words on the page. “A messenger bringing letters from Manburg brought me this,” Phil said. “He’d apparently saw someone — a child —shove it into his mule’s sac as he stopped to take a piss. The child had already run away by the time he got back.” 

Dream passed the letter to george with a white-knuckled hand. It wasn’t a letter at all, merely a couple sentences scrawled on a piece of newspaper in messy ink.

_ MANBURG WAS INVADED _

_ ASSASSINS AT EVERY PORTAL _

_ I AM FREEZING TO DEATH PLEASE HELP _

_ I AM THE PRINCE _

“I am an idiot,” Phil said through his teeth. “I should have at least sent a patrol to Manburg to make sure everything was alright.” 

“Tubbo,” George whispered. “Our first order of business is finding the prince. He’ll be dead in days if we don’t go out now.” 

“I’m already preparing the knights.” Phil walked to one of the windows and stared out at the snow. “They’ll go out in disguise. If Tubbo’s letter is to be believed, then the portals are certainly being watched.” 

“Sapnap and I will go out too,” Dream said. “He’s a better rider than anyone I know.” 

Phil shook his head. “Out of the question. Both of you are too recognizable. At best, you’ll be followed. At worst? Shot down with a crossbow the moment you ride through the portal.” 

Dream clenched his fist. “We’re on a time limit! Tubbo is dying as we speak! You can’t afford to keep us grounded here!” 

In what seemed like a split second, Phil crossed the room and had Dream by the collar of his tunic. _“_ _ Do not raise your voice at me, young man! _ _”_ He bellowed. _“_ _ You are under my rule!”  _

“Dad?” 

Phil let go of Dream’s collar and Dream crumpled to his knees as if shocked by lightning. “Tommy,” Phil said, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?” 

Tommy took a frightened step through the cracked-open door, wings pressed so tightly to his body they were nearly invisible. “Why are you yelling?” 

“Go upstairs,” Phil ordered. “This is not for you to hear.” 

Tommy glanced imploringly at George. “Is something wrong?” 

“I will explain it to you later, my child.” There was a sheen of sweat on Phil’s forehead. “Please, go upstairs. I will come read to you when I’m done.” 

“Okay,” Tommy whispered. There was redness blooming around his eyes, a tightness in his lips that moved with the bobbing of his throat. “Okay, Dad.” 

Once Tommy had left, Phil moved to the door and poked his head into the hallway to assure that his son wasn’t still within earshot. He clicked the door closed and rested his head against it, sighing softly. “I’m sorry for yelling, Dream. That was cruel of me.” 

Dream plucked at the collar of his shirt. “It’s alright,” he said with the faintest of wobble in his voice. “I’d have done the same.” 

“I’ll never forgive myself if I let that poor child die out there, alone and afraid,” Phil said gravelly. “He’s practically one of my own. I  _love_ him like one of my own. I just—“ 

His voice died sharply. Phil clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes pressed close. “I apologize,” he said in a strangled mumble. “You all may leave. The knights will be leaving shortly. You will be kept up to speed.” 

He straightened, inhaling deeply through his nose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” his voice was firm, but the pain in his eyes could not be hidden. “I’m going to go read to Tommy.” 

They walked back to George’s room in uneasy silence. George had a pit in his chest.  _ That child could be dead by nightfall. It’s been snowing for days straight.  _

“George?” 

George blinked. Dream had a hand on his arm. “We’ll find the prince. I promise.” 

_ “ We _ aren’t doing anything.” Something about those words made George’s tongue tingle with bitterness. “Let’s just hope the knights find him.” 

“Yeah.” Dream let his hand drop off George’s arm. “Let’s hope.” 

Sapnap, who’d seemingly been pacing, nearly jumped out of his skin as Dream pushed open the door to George’s darkened room. “You guys are back already?” He said. 

George’s head felt like it was full of cotton. “Yeah, we—“

“Prince Tubbo’s missing,” Dream interjected. “Go down to the knights’ quarters and see what their plans are. I want to know.” 

“What?” Sapnap exclaimed. “I thought Manburg was safe!” 

“Prince Tubbo sent Phil a secret letter saying how he’s in danger. He’s out in the wilderness somewhere between here and Manburg.” Dream walked to George’s fireplace and kneeled before it, striking a piece of flint and steel together aggressively. “He’ll be dead in forty-eight hours tops if we don’t find him soon.” 

“Let’s go now, then!” Sapnap darted to the door and threw on his coat. “Phil’s got tons of horses!” 

“You’re not allowed,” George said, collapsing on his bed. His covers were cool. “Phil said you two are too recognizable, and there are assassins at every portal. He’s sending in patrols in disguise.” 

“Go see what the knights’ gameplans are before they leave,” Dream ordered. “We need to know what their plans are.” 

There was a moment of silence between the two knights as if they were saying something to one another George could not hear. Sapnap’s face hardened. “Roger that. Be back soon.” 

Throwing his coat back on the hanger, Sapnap darted out the door and disappeared. The door closed behind him with a gentle click. George closed his eyes, watching the gentle colours of the blooming fire dance behind his eyelids. He tried not to think of Prince Tubbo — where he was, how cold he was, how near to death he may be. 

How he may already be dead. 

Dream made a noise of discomfort in the back of his throat. George cracked open one heavy eye. “What’s the matter?” 

“Ah,” Dream said with a low chuckle. “My shoulder’s just sore. Technoblade’s been so busy with Tommy that he gave me medicine to put on it every day so he didn’t have to. I kind of forgot to this morning. It’s hard to put it on myself.” 

“I bet chucking me into a snowbank didn’t help with your healing, either.” George murmured. 

“I don’t regret it,” Dream replied. “It was the highlight of my day.” 

“Watching Sapnap shove snow down your neck was the highlight of mine.” 

The sound of their chuckles hung in the air as they fell back into a semi-comfortable silence. “Where is your medicine?” George asked after a moment. 

“Uh—“ Dream paused to think— “My bedside table downstairs.” 

“Go get it. I’ll help you put it on.” 

“No,” Dream said. “You should nap for a bit. You’re looking pale.” 

“Go.” George pointed to the door. “King’s orders.” 

“Fine,” Dream mumbled, but his voice was tinged with softness. Once alone, George sat up in his bed and pulled his knees to his chest. 

_ I need you now more than ever, Dad. Keep Tubbo alive, wherever he is. Protect him.  _

George’s throat tightened slightly, as it always did when he thought of his father. _ I have no idea what to do right now. Send me a solution, Dad. I’ll do anything. I just want to find Tubbo safe and sound.  _

_ He reminds me so much of me.  _

Dream slipped back in on light feet, breaking George from his thoughts. “I got it,” he said.

“Good.” George swung his legs off the bed. “Go sit down in front of the fireplace.”

“I don’t know what Technoblade put in this shit,” Said Dream as he sat down in front of the flickering flames, “But it smells so good I could almost eat it.” 

George grabbed the small, round container from Dream’s hand and gave it a sniff. It smelt of fruit and something sterile. “It’s probably got a healing potion base. I bet it doesn’t taste as good as it smells, though.” 

He reached for the collar of Dream’s tunic to pull it down, only to be surprised as Dream pulled the entire thing off. “Once again, performative modesty isn’t needed,” he said, tugging at the bandages around his chest. “I don’t want the salve on my tunic, either. It gets oily when it hits cotton.” 

“That’s fine.” George stared at the lines of muscle on Dream’s arms as they flickered in the shadows. “Tell me if anything hurts.” 

With a gentle hand, he untucked the end of the bandage on Dream’s bicep and began unwrapping it. He’d never gotten the chance to get a good look at Dream’s wound, even when he’d pulled the shrapnel from the cuts, and seeing the constellation of raw scar tissue scattered over his arm and shoulder made his stomach twist. “I can’t imagine how much this thing hurt,” he murmured. 

Dream shrugged, squirming slightly as George’s hands passed over the crook of his neck. “The shock helped a lot. You were a comfort, too. Nothing is worse than being injured and alone.” 

“I was actually a comfort to you?” George said with a small smile. “If you’d have told me from a month ago that, I wouldn’t have believed you.” 

“Me from a month ago wouldn’t have either.” Dream sighed as the rest of the bandage fell loose, rolling his sore shoulder with a light grunt. “Becoming friends with you wasn’t exactly part of my schedule.” 

George unscrewed the cap of the salve and dipped two fingers in. The gel was cool on his skin, coloured a light pink and slightly glittery in the light of the fire. “Alright, I’ll start by your arm and go up to your shoulder. Sound good?” 

Dream nodded silently. George pressed his hand to a pair of thin slash marks on Dream’s bicep, making him tense up and suck air through his teeth. “Keep going,” he said. “It just tingles a little.” 

George began to move his fingers in small circles, stopping only to dip them in salve every minute or so. He became so focused on his work that he didn’t notice Dream’s other arm come up and slip his mask off until he murmured, “It’s hot in here.” 

His eyes looked nearly black in the firelight, the mottled whites of his eyes somewhat eerie. George’s fingers pressed on a lump of taut muscle beneath a spatter of half-healed cuts, making Dream’s eyebrows furrow. “Ow.” 

“You’re tense,” George said. 

“I haven’t been able to stretch in a while,” Dream replied. 

“More yoga for Mr. Dream, then.” 

“Oh, shut it.”

Once Dream’s arm was done, George scooched closer and began on his chest. “I’m glad we’re friends,” he said after a moment. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so bold, but there was a warmth in his chest that seemed to melt away at some of his inhibitions. Alone, in the dark, without his mask or armour, Dream did not look scary. He looked... familiar. “It’s nice having people to talk to.” 

“Who knew mortal danger was such a good bonding activity?” Dream replied. He turned his head, watching George as he rubbed at a particularly jagged slash just below his collarbone. “We get along better than I thought.” 

Despite being so muscular, there was something graceful about the lines of Dream’s arms and shoulders.  _He could have been a fine dancer_. “Well, we didn’t really know each other until now,” George said. “I don’t think we’ve ever tried to get along before. I assumed you hated me from the beginning.” 

“I never hated you.” Dream laid a hand on George’s knee. “Really. I— I didn’t. I promise.”

George smiled, which made the worry lines on Dream’s face soften. “Well, I never hated you either. At worst, you irritated and scared me a little.” 

That made Dream snort. “I scared you? Bullshit!” 

“It’s true!” George laughed. “You and Sapnap used to spar under my library window every single day and I was convinced that was your way of telling me you wanted to beat the shit out of me.” 

“My gods!” Dream tipped his head back and cackled. “You make me sound like I was a maniac!” 

“You were fucking scary! Imagine having a six-foot stony-faced fifteen year old standing outside your bedroom while you and your friend were chatting. You’d have been unnerved too!” 

“Well, sorry for scaring you.” Dream wiped at an excess bit of salve with his thumb. “I hope you aren’t still scared by me.” 

“Nah,” George said with a wave of his hand. “It’s been hard to be scared of you ever since I saw you tear up when Robin was executed.” 

“That was fucking sad! He wasn’t even the killer!” 

George wiped the rest of the salve on his pant leg and sat back on his heels. Dream, smiling gently, cocked his head to the side and stared at him. 

_ He really is quite pretty.  _

George mirrored his pose. “What are you looking at?” 

“Nothing in particular,” Dream replied smoothly. 

“I think—“ The warmth in George’s chest bloomed as if it were a fire being stoked — “I think you’re looking at me.” 

“And if I was, George?”

_I like the way he says my name._

“Then, uh—“ 

The door to his room swung open, flooding the room with light. Sapnap stepped in, only to freeze in his place. “Whoa!” He blurted. 

“Sapnap!” Dream jumped to his feet with his tunic in hand, leaving his bandage abandoned on the floor. “Did you get any info?” 

Sapnap blinked. “Uh—“ his eyes flickered between Dream and George. “Oh, yeah. I did. I did.” 

“Tell us!” Dream shoved his tunic over his head. “Don’t just stand there!”

“Well, we know one thing for certain.” 

George forced his thumping heart to slow. “And that is?”

Sapnap’s jaw set. “We have to find some way to sneak out and find Tubbo ourselves. If we don’t, then he’s dead meat.” 

George’s blood went cold. 

_When I said I wanted a solution, Dad, this isn’t what I meant._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was gonna post this on Wednesday for Maximum Clout but then I got impatient lmao 
> 
> I’ve never written romance before so I hope the relationship is building to you guys’ preference! I have definitely not learned the ways of heatwaves but god damn it I’m trying snskdjjf
> 
> -Ophelia


	14. Battle Plans

The plan was simple. 

Somehow, that made it scarier.

“The knights left an hour or two ago,” Sapnap said, bent over a half-eaten plate of fatty chicken wings. “That leaves the knights’ quarters open for us all night. Once the castle goes to sleep, you two meet me there.” 

Dream, stood over by the window as if expecting to see Tubbo appear over the horizon, made a small noise of acknowledgment. “And they have sets of armour left over?” 

“Yeah, tons.” Sapnap bit another mouthful of meat off the wing in his hand and wiped the grease off his chin with his sleeve. “Probably not the best stuff, but it seemed like decent leather and iron from what I saw. More than enough to block a stray or skeleton’s arrow.” 

George picked at the coarse bread he was given and dipped a piece in the fatty grease on Sapnap’s plate. “What about an assassin’s?” 

“That’s what I’m not sure of,” Sapnap said with a frown. “We’ll have to bring shields. We’ll risk bringing more attention to ourselves, but being caught without them could be lethal if we’re recognized.” 

George sat back against the plush couch and let the fat-soaked bread melt on his tongue. “Dream will have to go without his mask, then.” 

“I’ll handle it,” Dream replied stiffly. “You two have already seen my face before, and I doubt Tubbo will remember this at all when we manage to save him.” 

George bit at the inside of his lip.  _I wish I had that kind of blind confidence._

Someone knocked at the door, causing the three of them to jump simultaneously. “Who is it?” Dream called. 

“It’s Quackity!” Came a voice from the other side.

George’s heart leapt. “Come in!” He said immediately.

Quackity walked in, stretching his arms above his head. “Hello!” He said with a yawn. “Fancy seeing you all here.” 

Sapnap kicked George’s foot beneath the table.  _ Shhhh,  _ he mouthed. George rolled his eyes. “Come sit,” he said, “We were just having dinner. Want some?” 

Quackity grinned. “Gods, yes. I’m starving.” 

He plopped down next to Sapnap and grabbed one of the wings, ignoring as Sapnap bristled uncomfortably. “Phil’s had me babysitting Tommy for the last couple days. I’ve barely had the chance to come out of his room!” 

Dream crossed his arms. “How is he?” 

“In the middle of a downright crisis,” Quackity said through a mouthful of food. “He figured out Manburg was invaded pretty quickly after Phil’s meeting with you guys. Kid’s been a mess all day.” 

“Oh, Tommy,” George sighed. “I can’t imagine how he feels.” 

“At least he’s out of the destructive phase of his breakdown.” Quackity sagged in his seat and rubbed at his eye with the palm of his hand. “I had to get Technoblade in there to help me. Thank the gods he can’t fully fly yet.” 

“Tubbo will be found safe,” Dream said in a reassuring tone, “I promise that.” 

“I mean, I trust the knights, but I’d be lying if I said the situation doesn’t look fucking abysmal right now. It’s been snowing for days.” 

Quackity leaned back and stretched his legs out under the table, trapping one of George’s feet between two of his own and squeezing it gently.  _ I missed you, man,  _ the silent gesture said.  _We have to catch up._

Dream waved a hand dismissively, but tension hung heavy in the air around him. “He’ll be alright, I promise.” 

“Your confidence astounds me, but I’m happy you’re feeling optimistic.” Quackity raised an eyebrow. “You should go comfort Tommy. He’d probably be happy to hold your axe or punch you in the face again.” A chuckle bubbled in his throat. “Yeah. He told me about that.” 

“I’ll think about it.” The glare Dream gave to Quackity seemed to sear right through his mask. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have things to discuss.” 

“What?” Quackity pointed his chicken wing in Dream’s direction. “It’s you two who are leaving! King George needs some breathing room from you two.” 

Now it was Dream’s turn to bristle. “We’re busy here!” 

“An hour with just us two won’t hurt,” George said. “I do need a bit of a stress break.” 

“But—“ Dream tipped his head back and groaned. “One hour. That’s it.” 

“And I want you and Sapnap to go visit Tommy. Make him feel safe.”

“You’re pushing it.” 

George snapped his fingers towards the door. “King’s orders! I’ll see you two back here in an hour. No earlier.” 

Quackity kicked at George’s leg as the two grumbling knights left, holding back his laughter until the door had shut behind them. “Dude!” He gasped. “I am definitely on their hit list now. Did you see Sapnap’s face?” 

Warmth filled George’s chest. “Come here, man,” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he stepped around the table between them and wrapped his arms around Quackity’s shoulders. “I missed you. You will not believe the day I’ve had.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come visit sooner,” Quackity said. “I’m serious when I say that I couldn’t leave Tommy’s room. That kid’s having a serious breakdown.” 

George collapsed back onto the plush couch and allowed Quackity to sit next to him and dig back into the remaining wings. “I’m halfway there myself. I’ve got a bad feeling about all this, I tell you. The Eretians have something planned.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Quackity tapped George’s nose with a chicken bone, making him curl his lip. “King Phil and the other princesseem to be on high alert too. I heard him and Prince Technoblade talking into the early hours of the morning while guarding Tommy’s room.” 

“Gods,” George moaned. “I feel like everything is crumbling around me. I don’t know what I’ll do if we can’t get to Prince Tubbo in time. Dream won’t admit how little of a chance we have at finding that kid safe and I’m pretty sure it’ll kill Tommy if his friend dies.” 

He rested his head on Quackity’s shoulder and sighed. “Dream and I are friends now, by the way.” 

Quackity’s eyes widened. “Well, then. That’s an unforeseen change.” 

“I know!” George laughed weakly, rubbing at the corner of his eye with a finger. “It’s weird, but nice nonetheless. He’s a pretty cool guy.” 

Quackity was silent. George turned his head to see his friend looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “What?” He said.

“You think he’s cool?” Quackity said.

“Uh, yeah?” 

“ _Really_ cool?” 

George cocked his head. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

A smile spread across Quackity’s face. “It’s nothing. Want to hear about how Tommy punched Dream in the face?” 

“Depends,” George said. “How much will I want to beat Dream’s ass after hearing it?” 

“A decent amount.” 

“Awesome. Tell away.” 

~

“What the hell is up with you and the king?” 

Dream started. “What?” 

Sapnap fiddled with his headband, eyes trained ahead. “You two are close.” 

“And?”

“ _And?_ You two hated each other up until a week ago.” 

Dream shrugged. “We had some nice talks. Turns out we have more in common than we thought.” 

“Yeah.” Sapnap’s brows furrowed.

“What?” Dream said, irritation tingling along the back of his neck. “Why do you seem so skeptical?” 

“I’m not!” Sapnap laughed. “I just don’t think you’re telling me the full truth right now.” 

_ What? _ Dream froze in his tracks. “What the hell are you trying to say?” 

Sapnap stopped a couple steps ahead of him, chuckling tensely. “Want me to be completely honest?” 

Dream crossed his arms. “That’d be appreciated.” 

“I think you’ve got a thing for him.”

Dream balked. “What? Are you kidding? Where the hell did you get  _ that _ fucking idea?”

Sapnap pressed his fingertips into his eyes. “I walked in on him feeling you up while you were shirtless!” 

“He was putting medicine on my arm!” Embarrassment exploded in flames up Dream’s neck and cheeks. “Don’t make it weird!”

_ “ I’m _ making it weird?  _Me?_ You’ve been preening yourself like a god-damned bird for him the moment you two got here!” Sapnap exclaimed in frustration. “I have listened to you complain about this guy every night since we were kids, Dream! What the hell happened? Is it the invasion? The Tubbo situation? Why are you so weird all of a sudden?”

He jolted as if he’d been electrocuted. “Please don’t tell me you guys fucked in the woods or something. Dream, I  _ swear —“ _

Dream clapped a hand over his friend’s mouth. He was glad his mask hid the redness creeping up his face. “What’s wrong with you?” He hissed. “He’s my fucking boss!” 

Sapnap batted his hands away. “I know you, Dream! You’ve never gotten like this around someone before. Ever.” 

_Sometimes I could fucking kill him._ “We’re friends now, okay?” Dream said. “That’s why I seem different. I don’t dislike him now. That’s it. That’s all. No fucking involved.”

Sapnap looked unconvinced. Dream rubbed at his temples. Why had George forced them to go babysit a traumatized child while he gossiped? “If you tell George anything about this, I’ll kill you. I swear.” 

“Trust me, I’m not about to get involved in whatever the fuck is going on between you two,” Sapnap said. “Let’s just go talk to Tommy and then get this fucking plan on the move before I give myself stress ulcers.” 

The tension between them remained so thick in the air as they approached Tommy’s room that Sapnap stopped Dream’s arm as he reached for the door. “If I really was wrong about you two,” he said, his voice gentle and somewhat embarrassed. “Then I’m sorry. I’m glad you two are friends. Don’t be an idiot and shut him out because I got the wrong idea.” 

Dream felt his shoulders relax. “I won’t. I promise.” 

Sapnap smiled, then rolled his shoulders back. “Cool. Time to play babysitter.” 

Dream rapped on the door with a knuckle. There was silence for a moment, then a quiet, “Yes?” From the other side of the door. 

“It’s Dream and Sapnap!” Dream said. “I was wondering if you’d like to see my axes again.” 

“I brought my cool knives,” Sapnap piped up awkwardly. 

Tommy took a moment to answer. Dream heard him shuffle around for a couple moments. “Fine. Come in.” 

Quackity hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said Tommy had been through a destructive breakdown. His small yet ornate bookshelf had been emptied and lay overturned on the floor. Ripped-up books and pieces of parchment littered the floor of the cozy bedroom, crunching beneath their feet as they walked in. Tommy himself lay curled in a ball on top of his covers, rocking ever so slightly. He’d ripped up the curtains of his four-poster bed and scattered scraps of royal blue fabric everywhere. 

“It looks like a hurricane’s been through this place,” Sapnap blurted. Dream kicked at his foot, but Tommy sighed and sat up, rubbing at his swollen eyes with his palms. There were bald spots on his wings.  _Aether almighty,_ Dream thought to himself.  _This kid looks like a war prisoner._

“What do you guys want?” Said Tommy weakly. “My dad said I’m not allowed to have visitors.”

_Well, fuck._ “King George wanted us to come visit you,” Dream replied, awkwardly stepping over the massacred remains of a golden throw pillow. “He thought you could use a little company.” 

Tommy doubled over as if in pain and buried his face into his bed. “Have they found Tubbo yet?” He said into his blankets.

“Not yet.” Dream sat down by Tommy’s legs and placed a hand on his ankle. The child’s skin was cold. “But I’m sure they will.” 

Without warning, Tommy threw himself upwards and launched himself into Dream’s arms, hiccuping. “I don’t want Tubbo to die!” He wailed, wrapping his skinny arms around Dream’s shoulders like a vice. “You need to find him!” 

Dream glared at Sapnap imploringly, but his friend only shrugged and chuckled nervously.  _ Useless asshole _ _._ “It’s up to the knights, kid.” Dream cringed at his own inability to sound comforting. Tommy’s wings wrapped around them both like a second set of arms, trembling so badly they shed feathers onto the bed. “I bet they’ll find him nice and safe.” 

_ And if they don’t, we will.  _

Tommy tucked his head beneath Dream’s chin and wiped his dribbling nose on Dream’s sleeve. He was barely heavier than one of Dream’s axes. “I want you to go out. My dad’s being stupid.” 

Dream and Sapnap shared a nervous glance. The absolute  _last_ thing they needed was to have Tommy on their trail. “We’re too recognizable, Tommy. It’s just not safe,” said Sapnap. “The knights are good at what they do!” 

Tommy scowled. “The knights are a bunch of bitch-motherfuckers.” 

Dream held back a snort.  _Bad would have a heart attack if he met this kid._ “If your dad gives us permission, we’ll go out. If not, then we’re staying here.”

Tommy slammed his hand down into Dream’s leg with surprising force. “I am a prince!” He shrieked, red-faced and shaking with rage. “I’m  _ ordering _ you to go find Tubbo!” 

“I listen to King George and your dad,” Dream said stiffly. “They said no, so I can’t do anything.”

“You’re all  _ useless! _ _”_ Tommy erupted into a writhing ball of flailing limbs and feathers. One of his fists collided with the side of Dream’s mask, wrenching it across his face with enough force to make Dream’s nose explode with pain. “You’re all stupid! I hate you!” 

Dream pushed Tommy off him and the boy clattered to the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs. With more agility than Dream would have ever expected, Tommy flipped over onto all fours and skittered up one of his bedposts. “Stupid!” He roared, wings outstretched and puffed up behind him. 

“Fuck it,” Sapnap said quickly. “I’m going to get Phil!” 

Dream resisted the urge to reach for his axe as Tommy jumped down on top of him and began pummeling at his chest and face. “Don’t fucking leave me!” He shrieked. When he managed to turn his head to the doorway, he found it empty. “Fuck you, man!”

“I hate you!” Tommy grabbed a handful of Dream’s hair and yanked it as hard as he could. “You’re killing Tubbo! You’re a coward!” 

There was something warm and metallic dribbling down onto Dream’s lips.  _If this fucker stains my mask by giving me a nosebleed,_ he thought as he wrenched Tommy’s arms to his sides,  _ Then I swear to all the gods above that I will murder him and not regret it for a second. _

Wilbur, uncharacteristically frightening in his billowing royal regalia, burst into the room with a snarl on his face. “Get off him!” He ordered. Tommy whipped his head around and spat at him, then kicked at Dream’s chest until he was able to squirm free and clamber back up onto his bedpost. Sapnap poked his head in behind Wilbur and mouthed a single sentence: _ What the fuck is going on?  _

“Tommy.” Wilbur’s voice was firm, his arms outstretched as if ready to catch him. “You need to calm down.” 

Tommy pressed his head to his bedpost and screamed until he had no breath left. “Tubbo is dying! He’s dying!” 

“The knights are out right now looking for him,” Wilbur said. “You’re not helping anyone by being destructive.” 

Tommy kicked at him, snarling. “Tell Dream and Sapnap to go out and look for him.  _ NOW!” _

“They are too recognizable, Tommy! It’s just not possible!” 

“Argh!” Tommy did an awkward half-flip off his bedpost and collapsed into a ball, kicking at the empty air around him as if being attacked at all angles by invisible assassins. “I hate you all! You’re killing my best friend!”

Dream winced as Tommy’s ankle collided with one of the legs of his bed hard enough to make the whole room shake.  _This kid’s going to kill himself if he doesn’t stop this soon._ He stood up, fingering the collar of his tunic nervously. Perhaps Tommy would listen to him, or perhaps he’d just be able to pin him to the ground so he wouldn’t be able to kill himself—

A hand grabbed his arm. It was Wilbur, his face cool and neutral. He pulled Dream to Sapnap’s side, gentle but firm, and nodded to the two of them slowly. 

_I’ve got this._

The presence of his brother seemed to wane Tommy’s energy, and within a minute the child’s growls and snarls had quieted into rather pitiful sobs. He tried to squirm away as Wilbur picked him up, but eventually his exhaustion overtook him and he went limp in his brother’s arms. Wilbur waved Dream and Sapnap out of the room with a gentle swing of his wing. “I’m sorry you two had to see that,” he said. “I can have my dad swing by your rooms this evening to apologize, if you’d like.” 

“We’re good,” Dream said nervously. His nose ached with the movement of his mouth and he  _ desperately _ needed to take off his mask before the stench of his own blood made him puke. “We’re going to have an early night. Tell your dad to focus on Tommy for now.” 

Wilbur nodded sagely. Tommy began to paw at his brother’s shoulder, trembling. “I want Dad,” he whimpered. “I want Dad.” 

Wilbur pursed his lips. “I should go. If you two need anything, don’t hesitate to find one of us. We’re always here to help.” 

Dream managed to wait until the two princes had rounded the corner before leaning against the wall and ripping his mask off, sending half-coagulated blood spilling onto his tunic. Sapnap ran a hand through his hair, laughing incredulously. “The fuck just happened?” 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Dream pinched the bridge of his stinging nose. “Let’s just get back to George before I pass out.” 

“I thought Tommy was going to kill you!” 

“He’s lucky I didn’t freak out and put an axe through his chest,” Dream grumbled, swiping at a glob of blood that hung off his chin. How Phil had managed to not throw his youngest son out the nearest window yet was a downright mystery. “He came at me like a rabid fucking animal!” 

“I was there! I saw!” Sapnap put a comforting hand on Dream’s shoulder and helped him walk half-blindly back down the halls, peeking around the corners to make sure there were no wandering servants. 

Dream rubbed at his temple. His mouth tasted of blood and given how much his ears were ringing, it would be a miracle if Tommy hadn’t given him some sort of brain damage. “I need a nap.” 

Sapnap pursed his lips to keep from smiling. “Need King Georgie to kiss your boo-boos better too?” 

Dream whacked at Sapnap’s arm, making him whine. “Not now, asshole.”

Sapnap harrumphed. “Well, Tommy obviously didn’t knock a sense of humour into you.” 

“I fucking mean it.” 

“Alright, alright! Chill it, knight boy.”

~

“Apparently Tommy got his ass kicked for the axe thing. Wilbur says his dad is super sensitive when it comes to making good impressions on guests.” 

George chuckled into his tea. It was still too hot to drink, but he liked the way it warmed the tip of his nose when he sniffed it. “I should be the one worried right now! Dream knows better than to scare Tommy. If Phil wasn’t as nice as he was, we’d be out on our asses right now.” 

“I think Phil‘s finally met his match with that kid,” Quackity said. “He can throw a tantrum that would make the likes of Herobrine shit his pants! Technoblade calls him Hurricane T—“

The doors swung open, and in walked Sapnap and Dream, ruffled and bloody. A shocked cackle erupted from Quackity’s mouth. “What the fuck happened to you two?” 

Dream, his face half-obscured by the hand he had pressed to his bloody nose, jabbed a finger in Quackity’s direction. “Don’t look at me!” He snapped, pushing past a rattled Sapnap into the small on-suite and slamming the door behind him. Sapnap chuckled humourlessly and gave the two of them a sheepish wave with a blood-speckled hand.

“What happened?” George asked. “It’s barely been ten minutes!” 

“Tommy happened, your Highness!” Dream’s angry voice drifted from the bathroom. He gasped as though he were in pain. “Mother _ fucking _ —“ he cursed several times— “Tommy happened!” 

Sapnap plopped down on one of the couch cushions and rubbed at his eyes. “Tommy was not happy to hear that we wouldn’t be going out to find Tubbo,” He said awkwardly. “I think you can guess what happened next.” 

Quackity blanched, rising to his feet with his hands bunched in the fabric of his wooly tunic. “I should go, then. Phil will probably be wanting me back on babysitting duty.” 

“Bring a fucking shield!” Dream yelled from the bathroom.

“Noted!” Quackity gave George a small smile. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

George sighed as he watched his friend bustle from the room in a hurry, bringing George’s sense of relaxation with him.  _ Leave it to Dream to ruin my hour of peace,  _ he thought irritably. “Explain to me exactly what happened,” he said to Sapnap, watching him shrug off the leather vest he kept his knives in and sit down on the couch with a tired groan. “If I’m going to need to write an apology letter to Phil because Dream traumatized an already-traumatized child, I’d like to know now rather than later.

Sapnap waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing like that. Tommy had a tantrum and beat the shit out of Dream. End of story. We were two good little knights who did what their king said and now Dream has a broken nose to show for it.” 

George stood instinctively. “His nose is broken?”

“No it’s not!” Dream cracked open the bathroom door and tried to wave George away as he pushed past him into the bathroom. “It’s just bruised! I’m fine!” 

“Let me see!” George snapped. Dream turned away from him, blocking George’s view of his nose with his shoulders. “Dream! Stop being an ass!”

“Stop being overprotective!” Dream replied. “I’m fine!”

George grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him around to face him, ignoring Dream’s attempt at keeping him distanced. Dream’s nose didn’t look crooked, thankfully, but there were two dark bruises blooming in the inner corners of his eyes and enough coagulated blood had dripped down his tunic to seep through the light material. “Lean over the sink and stop pinching your nose,” George said, giving him a light spin. “I can’t believe you two managed to get bloodied in ten minutes!”

“Don’t snap at me like I did something wrong!” Dream spun around and gripped the edge of the marble counter until he was white-knuckled. “ _ You _ told us to go visit him!”

“I’m not snapping at you! I’m trying to help!” 

“I don’t  need help!” 

George grabbed a hand cloth from one of the small drawers beside him and ran a corner under warm water. Dream’s blood hit the basin of the sink in dark droplets, darkening the water swirling at the bottom. George reached a hand up to Dream’s face, curling his fingers gently under his chin and pulling it to face him. “I can do this by myself, thank you,” Dream mumbled, but he didn’t move away as George brought the warm cloth up and began wiping at the blood beneath his nostrils. George moved down to his lips, then his chin, then to the long stripes that stretched down his neck, all the while Dream was tight-lipped and silent.

“You’ve got it all down your shirt,” George said with a pucker of his lip. “Let me get you one of mine.” 

“I’m seriously fine.” Dream made an attempt to swipe the cloth from George’s hands. “I’m not taking one of your shirts.” 

“Why not? They’re all Wilbur and Technoblade’s old shirts anyways. It’s not like I’m giving you my crown.” 

“I meant I can get it myself.” Dream grabbed the bloody cloth from George’s hands and tossed it into the sink. “I don’t need to be babied.” 

George watched him leave, throat bobbing. The memories of that afternoon began to creep up the back of his mind in alarming detail.  _What was that?_ He hadn’t had a chance to think about it since it had happened.  _ What happened between us? What happened to  _ me _? _

He looked down into the sink, where the pinkish remnants of Dream’s blood sat at the bottom of the basin. It was the same shade as the medicine he’d help put on Dream’s arm. George remembered the smell, the tingly coolness of it on his fingertips.

How it had made Dream’s skin sparkle in the firelight.

George rubbed at his eyes.  _ I need my fucking tea. _

Sapnap was back to being bent over his plate of wings when George re-emerged from the bathroom. Dream was nowhere to be seen. “Quackity ate my fucking wings!” Sapnap cried. “I was gone for ten minutes! How fast does this guy eat?”

George sat down across from him and grabbed his teacup. His tea was just hot enough to burn the tip of his tongue. “I’ll send a servant to go make more,” he said. “Tell me more about the knights’ plans. Did they mention where they were going?” 

Sapnap nodded and quickly darted over to the nearby table to grab the map he’d swiped from the knights’ quarters. “Yeah, and their plan is fucking stupid. They’re starting along the highway until they reach Manburg, then splitting into two groups and coming back to the Empire over the forests on either side. However, they’re staying entirely airborne for—“ Sapnap raised his hands in quotes— “Safety reasons. If Tubbo’s in the forest, there’s no chance of them seeing him.” 

George leaned back in his seat. “So we’ll be looking for him in the forest, right?” 

“Right.” Sapnap placed a chicken bone in his mouth as though it were a toothpick and twiddled with it idly. “I found the messenger who’d been given Tubbo’s letter. He was at a rest stop by the river when he got it — nowhere  _ near _ the fucking highway, by the way.” He rolled his eyes. “I doubt he’s moved too much since then, so our best bet at finding him is starting along the left side of the forest and moving upwards along the path of the river. It’s probably what Tubbo’s using to guide himself.” 

“You’ve really thought this out,” George said in awe. Map-reading had always been one of his worst skills. He was a king meant for council rooms and passive-aggressively polite arguments through letters and messengers. Battle plans and maps? That had been his father’s territory, and George was happy to leave it like that. 

“I want to find this kid,” Sapnap replied softly. “I can tell it’s weighing on Dream too. He’s been...” something shifted in Sapnap’s expression, but George couldn’t tell exactly what. “Odd.”

“Where is he?” George asked nervously.

Sapnap pointed to the small guest bedroom. “Having a little sulk. I think he’s overwhelmed with this Tubbo shit. Good luck getting him to admit that, though.” 

“Are you sure I didn’t do anything?” 

“Not that I know of.” Sapnap looked away and spat the chewed bone he had in his mouth back onto the plate. “You can go ask him if you’re that nervous. Since you guys are friends now or whatever.” 

“Yeah.” George flushed. “I just hope he won’t bite my head off.” 

Sapnap hefted himself off the couch cushion and stretched his arms. “Great! You handle the pissbaby. I’m off to take a nap in the knights’ quarters before we leave. Come down when it’s time to go. See you two weirdos later.” 

Once alone, George found himself feeling extraordinarily awkward in the silence of his rooms. What had Dream told Sapnap of that afternoon? Had Dream even found their tender banter out of the ordinary at all? 

_“I think you’re looking at me.”_

_“And if I was, George?”_

A jolt shot up his spine as if someone were plucking his nerves like violin strings.  _He bantered back. He couldn’t have found it weird, right? He was at least sort of into it._

George took a nervous gulp of his tea. The heat of it gave him a burst of confidence, and he darted to the guest bedroom’s door before stopping as he raised his hand to knock. The familiar tightness of anxiety roiled in his belly.  _I don’t want him angry at me. I don’t want to intrude._

_I don’t want him to not want me there._

George knocked three times. “Dream?”

A grunt was Dream’s only answer. Good enough. 

“Do you want to start another book with me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this just in: colourblind British gogy drinks tea to get rid of Gay Thoughts™️. More at seven.
> 
> where is the boy!!! Where is our lad!!!! Is he even still alive??? Who knows!!!! 
> 
> FYI Tommy is my favourite character in this au and that’s why I let him go buck fucking wild at any point djdkhfkf
> 
> -Ophelia


	15. Rescue Mission

“What?” 

“We finished The Village That Went Mad,” George said hesitantly. “I was wondering if you’d like to start another one. We’ve got a couple hours before nightfall anyway.” 

There was silence on Dream’s end for several moments. George fought the urge to smack himself.  _ Of course he doesn’t want to read. He wants to be left alone, idiot! Way to go and— _

“Uh,” Dream said, his voice choppy and unsure. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.” 

George pushed the door open but lingered in the doorway, unable to force his legs to move. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal. Dream had been by his side for nearly a decade and George had never once felt the uncertainty he felt in that moment. He’d never had anything to be uncertain  _ about _ _._ Dream had always been the same, day in and day out. Nothing ever changed.

But now, something had, and George wasn’t quite sure how to navigate the new unknown territory. So he did what he always did when threatened: sink back into familiarity. 

“What’s up with you?” 

Dream laid sideways on the small bed, facing away. At the sound of George’s voice, he shifted onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes. “Huh?” 

“You look upset.” George leaned on the doorway and crossed his arms. “Why?” 

“Why?” Dream scowled. “We have a missing twelve-year-old on our hands who may have already frozen to death because King Phil’s knights have brains the size of peas. That’s why.” 

“It has nothing to do with the fact that you got socked in the face by Prince Tommy?”

“Did you come in here to show me another book or mock me?” Dream snapped, rising up on his elbows. His features were tight and stony, his eyes heavy-laden with the weight of his stress. The dark purple bruises beneath them did not make him look any friendlier.

George bit his tongue. “I came in here to stop you from wallowing in your own misery for the next two hours. I’d be happy to read to you if it would help you lighten up.” 

Dream only grunted. “I have a book already picked out,” George continued. “I think you’ll like it. It’s a bit darker than the last one.”

“What’s it called?”

“The Lost City Of Mizu. It’s about a group of fishermen finding an abandoned underwater city with only one guy left alive in it. Creepy as shit, but it’s a super good read.” 

“Fine.” Dream shifted to face the wall again. “But don’t expect me to be able to read shit. I’m not in the mood for it.” 

Something about being able to read to Dream again made George’s heart race as he ran to grab the book from his bedside table. It was nice when it was just the two of them. Dream was always softer, less rough around the edges, as though he allowed himself to truly relax. With everything going on around them, it was nice to have that slight bit of privacy, away from the eyes of even their closest friends. Though George was admittedly becoming fonder and fonder of Sapnap with each day, something about his presence didn’t calm him the way Dream’s did. 

George sat down beside Dream and placed the book on his hip. “At least try and read the title. You already know what it is.” He said. 

Dream grabbed the book, pulled it to his face, and scanned the gold-plated title with narrowed eyes. “The letters are familiar. I think I’ve got the alphabet down, at least.” 

“You’re basically halfway to being able to read on your own!” George smiled. “It’s all a matter of practice now.”

“No practicing today,” Dream said, shifting to face George. He placed the book in George’s lap then tucked both of his hands beneath his head as if he were sleeping. “You read to me.” 

It took a mere two pages of reading for Dream’s body language to begin changing. His stern expression evened out as the minutes ticked by and the constant tension in his shoulders finally began to give way into a sleepy softness as George finished the third chapter. George hadn’t read The Lost City Of Mizu since he was fourteen, but the antics of Cletus and the rest of the fishermen came back to him in vivid, comforting waves of nostalgia.

“Why are you smiling like that?” 

George blinked. He hadn’t even noticed he’d begun to smile at all. “I loved this book when I was a teenager,” he said. “It’s an incredible story.”

“I like it,” Dream hummed. “Ranbob is my favourite character so far.” 

“I thought so. You’re always into the mysterious weirdos.” George stuck his finger in the place of a bookmark and flipped through the rest of the book idly. “The copy I had had little drawings in it. This one doesn’t.” 

“Does it show what Ranbob looks like?”

“There was one drawing of him, I think. A big long one. He took up the whole margin of the page.” 

Dream chuckled. “Is he cool-looking?” 

George traced his finger up the outer margin of one of the pages, remembering the crude artist’s rendition that had nearly given him nightmares as a teenager. “Anything with yellow and purple eyes looks cool. A  _ silverfish _ with yellow and purple eyes would look cool.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Dream said with a small laugh. “I like mystery. It makes my brain happy.” 

“I’ve got a whole bookshelf of mystery books back home. I’ll show it to you when we take back the castle.” 

“Yeah.” Dream trained his eyes on the ceiling. “I’ll look forward to it.” 

There was a speckle of spider veins down the curve of his jaw, slicing through a particularly wide scar.  _ You never did let them get near you with needles to stitch you up _ _._ George felt his hand wanting to rise, to trace the whitened tissue with a fingertip.  _ I’m pretty sure you broke the wrist of the medic who tried. _

Dream’s eyes shifted, and for a long moment, they stared at each other, suspended and teetering on some unseen ledge.  _ What happened this afternoon, Dream?  _ George wanted to scream.  _ Are you thinking about it too?  _

Something flitted behind Dream’s eyes and he looked away, pursing his lips. With a push of his hands, he moved himself up into a sitting position. “Don’t be mad at me when I say this.” 

George’s heart dropped. “Okay, nothing good ever follows that sentence.” 

“Try to have an open mind.” Dream cracked his knuckles nervously. “I don’t want you coming with me and Sapnap tonight.” 

George started. “What the fuck do you mean?” 

“It’s dangerous,” Dream said stiffly. “If Sapnap and I get captured, I don’t want you stuck with us!” 

“We need all the eyes we can get. Tubbo’s time is limited!” 

Dream hefted himself off the bed and paced to the door, pressing at his temple. “Sapnap and I can manage alone! You aren’t trained for this!” 

“No.” George fought to keep his voice calm.  _ Not now. You’re not pulling this shit now.  _ “I’m coming with you guys. I refuse to sit here in my fancy little room sipping fancy fucking tea while a child freezes to death outside!” 

“Shh!” Dream hissed. “Do you want someone to hear you?”

“I want  you to listen to me! I want to help!”

“You can help by staying safe and giving me one less thing to worry about!” 

“Fucking hell—“ George pressed at his eyes with his fingers— “You can’t change my mind, Dream. We’re equals now. It’s like you said; my crown doesn’t mean shit out here. I need to learn to take care of myself.” 

“It’s my job to take care of you! You don’t need to take care of yourself!”

“ _ Enough _ _!_ ” George slammed his hand down on the bed, shaking the wooden frame. Dream froze, eyes burning. “I’m coming with you guys. End of story.”

“George—“ Dream started.

“We’re all going to find Tubbo together, whether you like it or not.” 

Dream’s face twisted. “George—“

George threw his hands up. “ _ What? _ ”

Dream closed his eyes and exhaled a sharp breath. “You can come, but if you get hurt out there tonight, I’m never letting you come on another mission. Deal?”

“Deal,” George said. “Have faith in me, Dream. I’m not an idiot.” 

“I never said you were. It’s the Eretians I don’t trust.” One of Dream’s hands lifted to his face and rubbed at a scar. “I don’t like taking risks with your safety.”

“And I thank you for that,” George said. “But you can’t protect me from everything. A life of a king is a dangerous one. I have to be capable of keeping myself safe.” 

Dream did not seem totally convinced, but he nodded nonetheless. George laid back on the small bed and closed his eyes, feeling a weight on his shoulders that wasn’t there before. Their mission loomed ahead of him, cloaked in darkness and uncertainty and the frigid air of the forest. They’d be out there that night, going against all of Phil’s orders. 

The fact that George didn’t know where he’d be the next morning sent ice down his spine. 

“We’re going to find that kid,” Dream murmured, mostly to himself. “He’s going to be alright.”

George cracked an eye open. Dream had moved to the small chair by the window and sat with his head resting on the windowpane, watching the final rays of sunlight dip below the line of trees on the horizon.  _ Sapnap was right,  _ George thought with a slight burst of awe . _You’re terrified by all this._

He rose quickly, not allowing himself time to overthink, and crossed the room to Dream’s side. “Scooch,” he said, motioning to the small wicker chair Dream was sat on. 

Dream raised an eyebrow. “There’s barely enough room for me here.” 

“King’s orders.”

Dream shuffled over with a huff, crossing one leg over the other to give George enough space to squeeze in next to him. George rested his elbows on the windowsill and closed his eyes, taking a moment to bask in the sunset’s warmth. “I know you’re scared for the prince, Dream,” He said. “I am too.” 

Dream turned his head away. “I don’t like kids being out in the woods alone. I know how cold it can get.” 

“We’re going to do all we can. I have faith in us.” 

“I do too,” Dream said softly. “But it may already be too late.” 

“There’s nothing we can do about that.”

“That’s why it fucking hurts.” 

Dream sighed, and his shoulders fell forward. “I was his age, you know? When I was in the woods. I was—“

Dream pressed a hand to his mouth. Redness began to crawl up his mottled cheeks and his eyes went glassy, pained by some faraway memory. “I don’t like when kids are cold,” he managed to force out. “Kids aren’t built for that shit.”

George remembered the gaunt child Dream had been on the day he’d been named George’s protector. Out of all the memories he had, that one had never fallen victim to time and gone fuzzy in his mind’s eye. He remembered the strangeness of Dream’s face, stuck somewhere between emaciation and childish roundness after six months of proper meals. He remembered Dream’s hair, matted and knotty. 

He remembered hating him right there. Hating everything he meant. Hating him and swearing to hate him until the day he died. 

Dream leaned into him ever so slightly. George’s chest grew tight. 

_So much for that promise, little me._

“You’re a good guy, Dream. I know you’re trying your best.” George focused his eyes on a glittering snow pile balancing on a branch. “Don’t blame yourself if we can’t get there in time.” 

Dream smiled weakly. “You’re asking the impossible of me.”

“You seem pretty good at doing the impossible.” 

“Gods, you’re such an idiot.”

The small chuckle that bubbled from deep within Dream’s chest left George feeling warm.  _ I like making you laugh. _

“We’ve got another couple hours before we can go meet Sapnap,” George said. “Want me to read to you some more?”

Dream perked immediately. “Yeah!” 

“Think you could try and read a couple sentences on your own?” 

“You’re pushing it,” Dream warned, but a smile had already made its way across his face. “It depends on how much I like the story.”

George cocked his head in the direction of the bed. “Come on, then.” 

Dream raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Bringing me to bed, your Highness?”

George felt heat rise in his cheeks. “Fuck off!” He spluttered, landing a solid kick to the back of Dream’s shin as he darted to the bed, wheezing as he went.  _ He’s joking around with me. He’s actually joking around with me.  _

Something about that thought made George’s heart rise into his throat. He froze in his tracks, watching Dream throw himself onto the bed with a huff and squirm a little to get comfy. “You coming?” He said. 

“Yeah.” George forced his legs to move. There was a match in his chest, dragging itself along his ribs. 

A spark bloomed to life and George’s stomach twisted itself into a knot. 

_ Oh, fuck.  _

~

“Does that fit right?” 

George rolled his shoulders, feeling the plates of iron and leather shift with his movement. “I think so,” he said. “I’m not really sure how it’s supposed to feel, though.” 

Sapnap tightened a buckle on the guards over George’s calf and sat back on his heels. “As long as it’s not too tight, not too loose, and doesn’t hurt, you should be good.”

George lifted his arms over his head and swung them in circles. The armour was an added weight his body was not used to, but that was somewhat comforting given the fear that bubbled within him. “I’m good then,” he said. Nodding, Sapnap returned to fixing his own armour. Since he’d be the one leading them with the map, Dream had given him most of the iron armour, as well as a black scarf that hid most of the lower half of his face. With the sword hanging at his side, he looked like a bonafide menace. George himself, however, felt like a child playing dress-up in his father’s old war things.

Dream walked out of one of the barrack rooms, tying a piece of fabric over his mouth and nose. He took one look at George and narrowed his eyes. “That chestplate is too big for you.” 

“No it’s not!” Sapnap said. “I put it on him myself.” 

“There’s way too much space beneath his armpits!” Dream beckoned George closer and placed his hands on George’s waist, jiggling the chestplate side to side. “It’s huge on him!” 

George felt his breath hitch as Dream leaned closer and lifted one of his arms. “Tell me if it’s too tight,” Dream said, tugging on the trio of buckles along George’s side. His hands were warm and steady, his brows furrowed in concentration. He was so close to George that George could see the individual freckles speckling his cheeks.

_ I am in such deep shit.  _ “That’s good,” George murmured.

Dream took a step back and scanned him over skeptically. “I’m going to get you a scarf too. Can’t risk you being recognized.” 

“Do it quick, then.” Sapnap hefted their backpack of supplies over his shoulder. “We should be out of here in the next ten minutes.” 

“We’ll meet you in the stables,” Dream said, retreating back into the barracks. “I’m going to fit George for some gloves and a scarf.” 

Sapnap nodded and disappeared down the hallway, surprisingly quiet for someone in so much armour. George’s heart began to beat quicker.  _ Ten minutes until we leave. Hold on, Tubbo. _

A grey scarf landed on George’s shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts. “Try these on.” Dream handed him a pair of worn leather gloves lined with fleece. When George outstretched his hand to take them, Dream simply put one of the gloves into his mouth and slid the other one onto George’s hand himself. “Does that fit? They were the warmest-looking ones there.” 

“Yeah.” George prayed his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. Dream slipped the other glove on and turned George’s hand over in his palm, moving his fingers himself. 

“Good,” Dream said quietly. “You’re still sure you want to go?”

George straightened his shoulders. “Of course.” 

Dream sighed. “Let’s be on our way, then. Sapnap will need help saddling the horses.”

He’d almost made it to the door by the time George mustered enough courage to speak. “Dream?” 

Dream turned. With so much of his face covered, it was reminiscent of their older days. George couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Yeah?” 

“I’ll be safe, I promise,” George said. “I’ll listen to you and Sapnap. Focus on Tubbo and don’t worry about me.” 

Dream breathed a low chuckle. “Thank you, George. I will.” 

A peace settled between them, light on George’s shoulders. For the first time since their plan had been made, he felt a sense of hope. When Dream reached over as they walked together in silence and gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze, George’s heart did a flip.  _ We might actually have a chance at finding this kid alive. We might actually do this.  _

That peace, however, disappeared the moment they walked through the stable doors. 

“Fucking finally!” Sapnap stomped up to them, red-faced. “We have a problem here.” 

A small figure bundled up in ill-fitting gear armour dashed out of one of the nearby stalls and landed a punch to Sapnap’s side. “You guys lied to me!” 

“Tommy?” Dream practically shrieked. “The fuck are you doing here?” 

The little prince looked noticeably worse than the last time George had seen him. He was ragged, bruised, and so furious that George could have sworn there was smoke rising from his ears. Tommy whirled to face Dream and stuck a finger in his face. “ _ I’m _ going off to find my friend because you are all useless!” He said. “I guess you three finally got your cowardly heads out of your asses and are actually taking my friend’s life seriously!” 

“We already had a plan to go before we saw you,” Dream hissed, bending down to face the boy at eye-level. “Maybe we would have told you if you hadn’t nearly broken my nose!” 

“You’re a bitch!” Tommy shoved Dream backwards. “You guys still aren’t taking this seriously!” 

George grabbed Dream’s arm as he leaned forward with his eyes blazing. “Tommy,” he said softly, pulling Dream backwards a couple steps. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, but we’re going out now to look for him. Take that armour off and go back to bed. We’ll handle this.” 

He tried to give the boy a comforting smile, but Tommy only curled his nose and fluffed his wings. “Fuck no. I’m coming with you guys.” 

“Absolutely not!” Dream and Sapnap shouted in near unison. 

“Tommy,” George repeated. “We can’t let you do that. Your dad will kill us.” 

“I’m the only one who’s capable of finding Tubbo!” Tommy replied through gritted teeth. “You have to let me come along!”

“Sapnap,” Dream cut in. “Go saddle the horses with George. I’ll handle this.” 

He advanced and grabbed Tommy by the arm, dragging him a few steps in the direction of the door. Tommy shrieked, kicking at Dream’s arm. “If you don’t let me come along with you guys, I’ll scream! I’ll wake the whole castle!” 

Dream stopped. “You wouldn’t.” 

Tommy wrenched himself from Dream’s grip. “I would!” 

“You’re putting Tubbo’s rescue at risk!” 

“I can help you guys if I come along! I can fly!” Tommy pleaded. “Tubbo and I have so many codes and shit that we can use!” 

Dream put his head in his hands. “Aether fucking almighty. You’re a prince, Tommy! What if we get captured?” 

“You’re letting George come along, and he’s a king!” 

Dream shot George the quickest but dirtiest of glances. George sucked in a quiet breath through his teeth.  _ Sorry, Dream.  _

“We have to get going, guys.” Sapnap emerged from the stalls, holding the reins to three horses. “Time is of the essence.” 

“Fuck.” Dream grabbed Tommy by the arm again. “You ride on my horse with me and you do exactly as I say. Got it?”

Tommy brightened immediately and saluted. “Yes, sir!” 

Sapnap helped George onto the back of a sleek chestnut mare while Dream got a grinning Tommy settled on their black stallion. “Stay close to me,” Sapnap said as he handed George the reins. “Dream I can trust, but I’ve never seen you ride.” 

“I can ride well enough to stay on.” George fixed the leather helmet on his head and swallowed the fear in his throat. “You can count on me.” 

Sapnap exhaled. “Alright. Let’s pray to all the gods we know that nothing goes wrong. You and Tommy are pretty precious cargo.” 

Tommy, tucked up against Dream’s chest like a baby penguin, raised his fists excitedly. “Let’s go find Tubbo!” 

Sapnap swung open the stable doors and a wall of bitter air hit George’s face. He leaned down close to his reins and tightened his grip on his horse’s sides.

_Let’s go find this prince._

~

The sliver of moonlight reflecting off of Sapnap’s armour was the brightest thing George could see for miles. The rest of the forest around them had long since melted into long, frightening shadows over their near two hours of fruitless search. With the sky as cloudy as it was, they were in near total darkness. Had it not been for the icy river’s glimmering surface leading their way, George would have become disoriented the moment they left the castle grounds.

Sapnap led the way a couple paces ahead, trotting along with the map in one hand and the reins in the other. He was silent, his only directions being short hand signals he threw back to them. Tommy and Dream were at the back of the group, arguing quietly from what George could hear. George felt safer between the two knights, but only slightly. He hated being so vulnerable beneath the open sky, uncovered on all sides. All it would take was one arrow, one well-placed trap, and they’d all be screwed. 

Tommy sneezed. Dream shushed him. George curled his stiff fingers and wondered what things were like back home. 

“Alright,” Sapnap said. “This is his estimated location. Keep your eyes peeled.” 

All of a sudden, Tommy let out a high-pitched whistle. All three horses jumped, and George turned just in time to see Dream clap a hand over Tommy’s mouth. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He whisper-shrieked.

“It’s my code with Tubbo!” Tommy replied sharply. “We use it when we’re playing manhunt and don’t want Ranboo to know where we are. He’ll recognize it if he’s around here!” 

“He may also be unconscious, so we can’t rely simply on that,” Sapnap said. “Keep your eyes out!” 

“Am I allowed to fly?” Tommy asked. 

“Nope,” Dream answered immediately. 

“Boring.” Tommy let out another high-pitched whistle. It was a quick three-note melody, reminiscent of the annoying birds that shrieked outside George’s window at the crack of dawn. Over and over Tommy repeated his tune, sending it into the bitter air in puffs of white steam. George felt the dread crawling up his spine grow with each second the forest around them remained silent. A quarter of an hour passed, and Dream had just begun to tell Tommy to knock it off when—

George yanked his horse to a halt. “I heard something.” 

“What?” Dream said. “I didn’t hear anything.” 

It was a faint noise, barely even there, but George was certain he hadn’t hallucinated it. “Shh!” He waved a hand at the two knights, now staring at him curiously. Tommy’s eyes were the size of dinner plates. Another sound drifted to him over the babbling of the river. “It’s someone whistling back!” 

Tommy jolted so hard it made Dream wobble in his seat. “Where? Where?” 

“Up there!” George pointed up the river and kicked his horse into a canter. His heart was thumping in his ears, louder than the beating of his horse’s hooves over the frosty ground. Tommy glided over him, small wings flapping with all their might. “Do you hear it too?” 

Tommy did not answer, but the expression on his face said enough. He dove ahead and landed at the base of a gnarled tree, falling to his knees as something staggered out of the tree line and collapsed in front of him.

“It’s him!” Dream galloped past him and was on the ground beside Tommy in the blink of an eye. “Sapnap! Get me the blanket!” 

Dream picked the small figure up in his arms and moved into the small patch of moonlight on the trail. George‘s stomach twisted. Sprawled in Dream’s arms was Tubbo, dressed in nothing but a thin shirt. He had several cuts along arms and legs, strikingly dark against his ghoulish, moon-lit skin. Something had even taken a chunk off the end of one of his horns, leaving it jagged and awkward. Sapnap practically jumped off his horse with a rolled-up blanket in his hands and knelt by Dream’s side. 

“Tubbo! Tubbo!” Tommy cried. His wings were shaking, his eyes wide with tears. “We found you!” 

Tubbo’s eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth moving without sound. “We have to get back,” Dream said sternly. “This kid’s on death’s door. Sapnap, you take Tommy at the front. I’ve got Tubbo.” 

_ We did it. We actually did it.  _ The air in George’s lungs was so light it seemed to be lifting him.  _It was so easy. He’s alive. We got him._

Dream hopped back on his horse with Tubbo wrapped in his arms. “Let’s go!” He shouted. 

“Hold it!” 

A figure cantered up to them from the other direction, holding a gloved hand in the air. It was a young woman, stern and straight-backed, with a head of pink hair pulled back into a neat bun. “Who are you all?” 

Dream pulled Tubbo closer to his chest. “Farmers from the Antarctic Empire, ma’am,” he said in a gentle voice. 

The pink-haired woman narrowed her eyes. “It’s far too late for farmers to be out along the river. It’s dangerous.” 

“My little brother, he—“ Dream pulled the blanket over Tubbo’s horns and pressed him to his shoulder as if hugging him— “He ran away an hour or two ago. We’ve been looking for him all this time.” 

“Hm.” The woman kicked her horse into motion and stepped closer to them. “Let me see the boy.” 

_ Fuck.  _ George felt a jolt of panic go up his spine. Dream stiffened, but reluctantly allowed the woman to reach down and pull the blanket from Tubbo’s face. She froze. “The prince!” 

Something flashed in the moonlight as she moved and within moments she had a sword pointed at Dream’s throat. “Get on your knees,” she ordered. “And give me the boy.” 

She turned her head back down the path. “Jack!” She screamed. “I’ve found him!” 

George’s blood ran cold.  _ She’s wearing the Eretian insignia on her shoulder. _ “Dream—“ he forced out. “She’s an—“ 

“We weren’t kidnapping him! He knows us!” Tommy cut him off. 

A young man bearing the same insignia on his chest galloped up, holding a loaded crossbow. “Nikki! What’s wrong?” 

The woman jabbed her sword at Dream, who’d taken a couple steps backward in the direction of his horse. “They’ve got the prince. He’s alive.” 

The young man’s angular face split into a grin. “Awesome.” 

George tightened his grip on the reins and passed a panicked glance to Sapnap as the young man raised his crossbow. “All of you. Off your horses.” 

“No,” Sapnap replied sharply. “Not a chance.” 

“ _ Now _ _,_ ” The young man snarled. 

Tommy bent down and threw a rock at the young man’s head, causing his horse to shriek. In the moment the young man was preoccupied, he ripped the crossbow from his hands and launched himself into the sky, screaming wildly. Dream turned to George and Sapnap. “ _ GO! _ ” 

George dug his heels into his horse’s side and was flying back down the river trail before he realized what was going on. Sapnap was no more than a greyish blur beside him, the beating of his horse’s hooves a continuous thundering in his ears. Tommy was nowhere to be seen. Dream was nowhere to be seen. George fought to regain control of his spinning head and twisted in his saddle to see back down the path. One of the Eretian mercenaries had disappeared along with Dream and Tubbo, but the other one had jumped off their horse and had Tommy by both wrists, wrestling him into the tree line. 

“Tommy!” George yanked his horse sideways, making a turn so sharp it nearly threw him off. Sapnap yelled something as he shot back down the path, but George couldn’t hear his words over the sound of the blood roaring in his ears. He kicked his horse into a near-frantic gallop, the adrenaline in his veins dulling his fear, and careened into the mercenary’s horse. Both horses reared, screaming, and the mercenary let Tommy go in the moment of panic as their horse sped off into the darkness. 

“Fuck you!” The pink-haired woman brandished her sword. She was panting, her hair tousled and knotted. The glint in her eyes was dangerous. She turned to a scrambling Tommy and raised her sword above her head. 

“ _NO_!”

George felt the metal hit the meat of his palm though his gloves with an excruciating squelch. He wrapped his fingers around the end of the blade, pulling it backwards with all his might as warm agony spread down his hand and arm. The mercenary stumbled, growled beneath her breath, then ripped her sword from George’s grip, slicing though the leather and into the skin of his fingers. “Damn you!” She snarled. 

“George!” A voice from behind him cried. 

The pain in George’s hand was nearly blinding. Stars swimming before his eyes, George pointed in what he believed was Tommy’s direction and screamed, “Get Tommy!” before galloping off again. He bent his head close to his horse’s mane as the wind roared by them, praying he didn’t pass out. The reins were slippery beneath his fingers. His injured hand had gone all but numb. He fell sideways, seeing nothing but darkness, but felt warm hands push his limp body back into his saddle. Someone tipped his head back and poured a potion down his throat. 

“George! Wake up!” 

Consciousness came back to him in a violent jolt. George bent forward, coughing up a mouthful of potion that spilt down the front of his jacket. Dream’s face came into view, his features fading in and out of focus. He had something dark in his arms. “Are you okay?” His voice filled George’s head with grainy waves of static. “Your Highness! Are you alright?” 

“Tommy!” George choked. “Where’s Tommy?” 

“Sapnap’s got him!” Dream placed a hand on George’s face. “Are you going to pass out?” 

“Not yet!” George forced his tingling legs to squeeze his horse’s sides and the chestnut mare sprung into action, carrying him off down the path. He watched Sapnap pass him, shouting commands George’s fuzzy brain could barely register. He had Tommy pressed to his back, wings outstretched behind him. Tommy met George’s eyes and grinned tearfully.  _ We got him. We’re alright.  _

Their pace didn’t slow until they reached the castle gates, where several servants waved them down. King Phil stood on his balcony above them, staring down at them with wide, stony eyes. Both of Tommy’s brothers, dressed in pyjamas, surrounded Sapnap’s horse and pulled Tommy into their arms.

“I’ve got the prince!” George heard Dream yell. There were servants and stablehands everywhere, pulling him down from his horse and into the orange glow of the castle’s lamplights. He was so tired. He could not feel his hand. Dark droplets landed in the snow with each one of his steps.

King Phil landed in front of him, ringed by lamplight as though he were an angel. He outstretched his arms and George fell into them as his vision faded. “I’m sorry, Phil,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: guys look! Dre n gogy are crushing on each other!   
> y’all, holding pitchforks: where the FUCK IS OUR BOY TUBBO
> 
> I watched the most recent Tales Of The Smp and wow i rly predicted Villain!Eret hehe 😎 /j 
> 
> y’all are SO SWEET all of the comments were actually worried abt Tommy and how he’s handling his grief I love it sm PLEASE keep telling me all ur thoughts and opinions they help me so much 
> 
> Follow my tumblr @opheliabloo and come say hi! I’m happy to answer any questions y’all have :) 
> 
> -Ophelia


	16. Fall

Phil slammed the door behind him so loudly that it made Tommy’s frostbitten ears sting. “You—“ he seethed. “You  _ stupid _ —“ 

“Where is Tubbo?” Tommy pushed against his father’s arm as he yanked him farther into his bedroom. “Dad! Where is Tubbo?” 

“Quiet!” His father bellowed. His eyes were ablaze in a way Tommy had never seen before. “Aether fucking almighty, Tommy! What is wrong with you?”

Tommy’s heel caught on a piece of ripped-up pillow as he stepped back and sent him tumbling to the ground. He landed hard on his tailbone, shooting pain up his already-aching spine. The euphoria and adrenaline from his mission was fading fast and fear began to hold his chest in a vice grip as his father advanced on him, wings raised and bristling. “Dad!” He choked out.

“I cannot fucking believe you! I thought you were smarter than this!” Phil ran his hands through his hair. “Sneaking out? Really, Tommy?  _ Really? _ ”

“I had to find Tubbo!” Tommy screamed. “He was going to die if I didn’t go and find him!” 

“You put yourself directly into the hands of the Eretians! Do you know how much damage you could have caused?” 

Tommy’s tongue felt like a heavy weight in his mouth. “I had protection!” 

“You had King George and his guards, who weren’t even supposed to be out themselves!” 

“Fuck off! This is stupid!  _You_ are stupid!” Tommy buried his face in his hands.  _I need to see Tubbo. I need to make sure he’s alright._

Phil clenched his hands into fists. “Do  _ not _ call me stupid, Tommy! I am the king of this country and I have kept us war-free for my whole reign,” He said through gritted teeth. “I would have had to give that up if you got captured. Nearly two decades of peace, Tommy! Down the fucking drain! For you!” 

“You let Wilbur and Techno go out on missions!” Tommy cried. His mind was screaming  _ leave, leave! Escape from here!  _ But his body felt like lead and his hands were beginning to shake and his father’s looming figure above him struck fear so deeply into his chest that it ripped the air from his lungs. 

“Wilbur is smart enough to not get himself into dangerous situations and any country that dared take Technoblade hostage would be paying  _ us _ to take him back within the hour!” Phil replied angrily. “They’re different than you, Tommy! They have the spirits of kings!”

“I know that they’re better than me! Don’t rub it in!” 

“You cannot be mad that I take them more seriously than you when you go ahead and jeopardize this country’s safety for fun!” 

Tommy forced down the lump in his throat. He couldn’t cry, not now. The hurricane in his chest threatened to explode forth and eat everything in its path but Tommy shoved it down and clenched his jaw to keep from screaming.  _ Hurricane Tommy exists because Prince Tommy isn’t listened to, isn’t taken seriously, _ he wanted to scream.  _The reason there isn’t a Hurricane Wilbur or a Hurricane Technoblade is because there doesn’t need to be._

Then came the anger, hot and sharp and a welcome distraction from his anguish. His father seemed to notice it take control, for his wings spread instinctively as if blocking him in. “I hate you!” Tommy screamed. The words burned on his tongue but the pain was satisfying. “Fuck you! I hate you!”

Pushing through the pain in his exhausted body, Tommy struggled to his feet and pointed a finger in his father’s face. “You would have let Tubbo die! He would be dead by now if it wasn’t for me!”

His father’s face twisted. “Tommy—“ 

“You knew the plan with the knights was idiotic—“ 

“ _Tommy_ —“ 

“—and you know that you failed Manburg by being a coward!”

“ _ QUIET! _ ” 

The slap happened so quickly it left Tommy’s head spinning. He staggered sideways and hit the end of his bed as his knees buckled beneath him. His cheek stung. His eyes stung. One of his ears was ringing and something warm dribbled down his chin as he lifted his head to meet his father’s eye. “You hit me.” 

Tommy had done worse things to his father before. He’d screamed until his throat was raw, thrown glassware and plates of food onto the walls and floor, sworn himself to angry silence for days on end. He’d taken swords from the model knights outside each door and sent them flying through the windows, ripped at his father’s feathers when he was trying to pin him down. He’d done so many awful things that he couldn’t even begin to count them.

Never once had his father hit him.

Until then.

“You hit me,” Tommy repeated. “You hit me.”

His father’s face had gone slack, eyes slightly widened. The silence between them was deafening. “Tommy,” he whispered. He seemed unable to say anything else. “Tommy.” 

The anger in his veins retreated and Tommy sat there on his floor for a few long moments, blood dribbling from the slit in his lip. He felt nothing. “You hit me.” 

A fresh wave of terror filled him from head to toe and suddenly he was on his feet, moving without purpose. He ran in a blind panic out the doors of his room and into the darkened halls, watching them warp and bend beneath his feet.  _ I need my friend,  _ his frazzled mind focused on a single though.  _ I need my friend. I need my friend.  _

_ I need to go find Tubbo.  _

~

Dream pressed his thumb to the back of George’s hand. His bandages looked too tight.  _ Tight bandages means poor circulation which means swelling which means pain. _ Sighing, he gently tugged at the end of bandage below his wrist until it came loose. He’d do it right this time. He was sure. 

“Dream, you’ve re-wrapped his hand three times. Leave it alone.” 

Dream tucked the bandage back in place and forced his hands into his lap. From his seat in the infirmary on the other wall, Sapnap gave him a slow, tired shake of his head. Though he was smiling, the air around them was thick and heavy with their worry. They hadn’t been allowed to see Tubbo since they’d reached the castle, and listening to his muffled screams through the walls bothered Dream far more than he’d ever admit aloud. 

In the bed beside him, George lay on his side with his closed eyes scrunched in discomfort. It seemed that the moment his stern features began to soften and even out, a twitch from his injured hand or a stray noise from down the hall would make him jerk awake, moaning beneath his breath. Dream hated it.  _ Sleep, you idiot. You’re the only one out of us who can right now.  _

The memory of the pink-haired woman’s blade slicing through the flesh of George’s hand replayed in his head in a stubborn loop, torturously vivid despite his exhaustion.  _ Stupid fucking idiot.  _ Dream leaned his head on one of his hands. His shoulder had begun to ache again.  _ Stopping a sword with your fucking hand. How stupid can you be?  _

_ As stupid as you were to stop a knife with your fucking face,  _ a voice in his head hissed back. 

“Dream?” Sapnap’s voice tore him from his thoughts. “Are you alright?” 

Phantom slashes on his face stung. “Mmhmm,” Dream murmured. “Just tired.” 

“We got the kid, Dream. He’s alive.” Sapnap leaned his head back on the wall. “We did it.” 

“Let’s hope that’ll make King Phil less inclined to kick our asses for this.” 

King Phil had certainly not taken kindly to their mission. With George limp and blood-soaked in his arms, he didn’t have time to do more than pass them off to the medics and instruct Technoblade to send patrols out to the border, but the fury in his eyes had been bright enough to scare everyone around him into near-silent submission. Once Tommy had been checked over and deemed healthy, he’d been grabbed by the elbow and dragged off. 

Gods. Dream hoped the kid was still alive. 

So, with baited breath and heavy stomachs, they waited. Sapnap bounced his leg, George half-slept, and Dream replayed the moment he saw the bones moving within the gash in George’s palm over and over in his head until a headache bloomed above one of his eyes. 

“Try to sleep, dude,” Sapnap said quietly. “I can tell you’re thinking about shit you shouldn’t be thinking about.”

“I can’t switch my brain off, Sapnap.” Dream wanted nothing more than to collapse in a bed and cry until he knocked himself out. “I wish I could, but I can’t.” 

George shifted at his words, shuffling away from him without opening his eyes. “Here,” he said, patting the empty end of the pillow. “Lay your head down and try to rest.” 

“No!” The words came out on instinct. “You rest. I’m fine here.” 

One of George’s dazed, heavy-lidded eyes opened and stared at him in displeasure. “Rest. King’s orders.” 

“And Sapnap’s orders,” Sapnap piped in. 

“Screw you both.” Dream planted his cheek on the starchy cotton and couldn’t stop the sigh that drifted from his lips as his body relaxed. He was sure he’d sleep for days the second he was allowed to. 

George let out a triumphant chuckle as he closed his eye again, grimacing slightly as he moved his hand closer to his chest. “How’s your hand?” Dream found himself asking. 

“It hurts like a bitch,” George replied gruffly. “The medics said I was lucky to have all my tendons still intact.” 

Dream clenched his jaw at the mental image that flashed behind his eyelids. “I still have the healing medicine up in your room from my shoulder. I’ll help you put some on when we can.” 

“Your shoulder is barely healed,” George said. “You use it. Technoblade will make me something else.” 

“I at least want you to try it. It really helped with my pain.” 

“Would that make you feel better? If I used some?” 

Dream pursed his lips. The last thing he needed at that moment was to be psychoanalyzed. “Yes, yes it would,” he said. 

George smiled softly. “Then I’ll have a little when we get back to our room.” 

“That’s  _ if _ we get back,” Sapnap cut in. He had his eyes trained out the crack in the door. “Because I see Phil coming.”

Dream shot up into a sitting position so quickly it left his vision blurry. Phil pushed open the door, considerably less frazzled than when they’d seen him last, and welcomed himself in with a quick nod in a half-asleep George’s direction. The door closed with a click, leaving Phil standing in the middle of the room with his hands folded in front of him. “Boys,” was all he said. Exhaustion hung heavy from his words. 

“I came up with it — the idea to sneak out,” Dream blurted into the silence that followed. Phil’s stormy eyes seemed to sear right down to his bones. “It’s my fault. I forced these two to come along with me.” 

“What you did was incredibly stupid.” Phil’s voice was quick, sharp, meticulously contained. “You could have cost me many lives if something had gone wrong.” 

“I know. I know.” Dream yearned for his mask. His scarf may have covered his mouth and nose, but even only having his eyes bared to King Phil’s disappointment was overwhelming. “I can’t apologize enough.” 

“You’ve all undermined my authority today,” Phil continued. “I can barely express in words how much shame that brings me. And to bring my youngest son along? I could consider that a crime.” 

His jaw clenched, pulling his mouth into a tight line. He turned his head away from them and sighed through his nose. “Your only saving grace was bringing Prince Tubbo here alive. For that, I will forgive this transgression. But I will not forget it.” 

George audibly sighed in relief. “Tubbo’s alive?” He whispered.

“Yes. Malnourished, frostbitten, and traumatized, but alive. If I were a better man, I’d thank you all for it.” Phil looked down at his hands. “George, I’d like you to stay here with me. Dream and Sapnap, you’re free to your rooms. I’d rather you not visit Tubbo until tomorrow morning. He’s... overwhelmed right now.” 

Dream watched George stiffen out of the corner of his eye and sucked at his teeth. “May I request to stay with King George?” He asked quietly. “I’m not comfortable leaving him alone while he’s injured.” 

“He’s not alone, he’s with me.” Phil’s tone made it clear the matter was not negotiable. “I shall not keep him for long. Go to your rooms and rest.” 

Little was said between Dream and his friend as they walked the empty halls. Every servant, maid, or medic in the castle was either in bed or aiding Tubbo, so the halls were eerily silent without the hum of daily chatter. Sapnap undid his fingerless gloves and stuffed them in his pocket, flexing his bare hands over and over. “We got the kid, Dream.” His voice was tired, gentle, void of the triumph that filled them hours before. “He’s okay. He’s alive.” 

“King George isn’t okay,” Dream replied. “He took a sword to the hand.” 

Sapnap chuckled deep in his chest. “If that’s our worst injury of the night, I’d consider us lucky.” 

Sapnap was right, as much as it bothered Dream to admit. He should be thanking his lucky stars a wound that would barely even scar was the only thing they had to show for a mission held together by teenaged spite and blind confidence. If it had been he himself who’d have been injured, Dream would have probably considered the night a rousing success. 

_ If it had been anyone else but him injured, it wouldn’t be bothering you right now.  _

“Yeah.” Dream shoved the thought from his mind. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“If  _I_ was the one who got a sword to the hand,” Sapnap continued, “You’d shoo me off to bed and remind me to drink my healing potions. There wouldn’t be one ounce of this sulky shit.” 

“Shut it,” Dream snapped. “I’m not sulking. It’s been a long night.” 

“Can you at least admit that you’re bothered that it was him who got injured?” 

_ Mind-reading asshole.  _ “It’s my job to protect him! Of course it stings a little more when he’s hurt.” The hallways’ ceilings glimmered in the yellowish torchlight. It hurt Dream’s eyes. “If it was you, I’d know you could handle it. George isn’t like that.” 

Sapnap raised an eyebrow. “George watched his dad die in front of him from an infected arrow wound and then took a whole country onto his shoulders at nineteen years old. He’s not necessarily a delicate little flower.” 

Dream opened his mouth to answer, only to hurriedly pull his scarf over his face as a winged nurse soared over their heads, carrying various medical tools in her arms. The fright in her eyes put a pit in Dream’s stomach. “I never said he was,” he said once she’d disappeared up the nearby stairwell. “He’s very capable. He’s just not used to swords and shit.” 

They reached the base of the curved stairwell and Sapnap stopped, pensively fiddling with his hands. “Are you coming?” Dream asked.

“I think I’m going to sleep in the knights’ quarters again,” Sapnap answered with a yawn. “King George will be fine with you.” 

Dream frowned. “I don’t want you being alone.” 

Chuckling lightly, Sapnap gave him a friendly punch to the arm. “Not all of us are as emotionally fucked as you. I’m not going to go sulk, I promise. That’s your specialty.” 

He removed his vest and threw it to Dream, along with his gloves. “Keep those safe for me. I don’t trust the knights with my good leather.” 

“I will,” Dream smiled. “Goodnight, dude. Thanks for your help tonight.” 

“No problem. Anything to help you out.” Sapnap turned and began back down the hall, giving him a wave. “No more sulking!” 

Dream watched him leave, listening to his melodic whistling grow fainter as he walked away. Sapnap always whistled when Dream was upset. It was his quiet way of saying  _ I’m okay, don’t worry about me.  _ “Goodnight,” Dream said again, mostly to himself. 

He hoped Tubbo, wherever that poor child was, could get a warm sleep that night. He out of all of them deserved it the most.

~

“How is Tubbo?” 

Phil smoothed down his robes and sat where Sapnap had been. “I’ve already told you.” 

“I want to know more,” George said. “Dream and Sapnap aren’t here. You don’t have to censor yourself.” 

Phil pursed his lips. “He’s alive, George. That’s all that matters.” 

“Was he conscious?”

“I’d rather not regale the gruesome details of a half-dead child to someone I should be kicking out on their ass for taking my twelve-year-old son out on a joyride mission,” Phil hissed. “Yes, he was conscious. Barely lucid enough to do anything but scream, but conscious nonetheless. Happy?”

George swallowed the lump in his throat. Phil’s anger may have been justified, but that didn’t make it any less scary. Phil exhaled sharply and turned his head to the window, staring out into the darkness. “I thought I could trust you to think like a king, George. I guess I was mistaken.” 

“I couldn’t let that boy die, Phil,” George whispered. “I couldn’t sit there and do nothing.” 

“You’re never doing nothing when you’re a king. You have to lead, bring peace to those who follow you. Sometimes that includes staying behind and leading from safety.” Phil rubbed at a bag beneath his eye. “What you did tonight was idiotic. You could have put my son or Tubbo in grave danger, let alone yourself and your guards. I’m disappointed in you.” 

“I trusted Dream and he did not disappoint me.  _ We _ are the reason Tubbo is in your infirmary rather than frozen solid on a riverside.” George blinked back the pressure building behind his eyes. “You can’t deny that.”

“I can’t.” There was an edge to Phil’s voice George couldn’t quite place. “But you’ll be lucky if you can ever write with that hand again.” 

“I’ll learn to sew with it just to spite you.” 

His remark hung in the air for a long moment. Then, Phil’s face broke into a small smile. He met George’s gaze, eyes glassy. “You sounded like your dad just there.” 

“I feel like him too right now,” George said. His voice wobbled far more than he would have liked. “Injured and being berated by a fellow king. That’s how he spent most of his life.” 

With a gasp, he bent forward into his hands, half-crying, half-laughing into his fingers. A shadow moved in front of him, blocking the room’s orange light, and surrounded him in warmth. George wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist and pressed the side of his face into the material of his long robes. “I’m sorry, Phil. I— I really am.” 

Phil’s hands came to rest on George’s head, one along the back of his neck and the other one caressing smooth circles into his hair. “You’re young, George. Perhaps that’s why I can’t bring myself to stay mad at you,” He said softly. “Never do anything as foolish as what you did today ever again. I will not be so kind next time.” 

“I’m happy to leave this at a truce.” George leaned back and pressed at his eyelids to stop the swelling. “Both of us are equally right and wrong. Let’s leave this behind us.” 

Phil nodded, but something shifted in his body language as he sat down on a nearby bed and rubbed at his temples. “If I may, I’d like to ask a favour from you.” 

“Of course. It’s the least I can do right now,” George said.

“Keep an eye on Tommy for me. After what happened tonight, I can’t see him coming to me much anymore.” Phil’s eyes fell to the floor. “I lost my temper tonight, and I fear the damage I caused to our relationship may be permanent.” 

George sucked in a quiet breath. “What happened?” 

Shame seemed to settle on the older man’s shoulders like an invisible pillory. “I struck him.” 

“What?” George winced as his injured hand went to clench into a fist. “You punched him?” 

“No, it was an open palm—“ Phil clapped a hand to his forehead and dragged it down his face. “I slapped him. He called me a coward for failing Manburg and I slapped him. Now I can’t find him anywhere.” 

“Gods, Phil,” George said incredulously. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“I’ve never felt more ashamed in my life. Never once have I wanted to strike one of my children. Not once!” Phil cried. “And now I have and—“ he choked— “And I fear I have crossed a boundary over which I cannot go back.”

Grabbing George by the hands, he raised them both to their feet. “I am not asking you to play therapist for my family,” Phil continued gravelly, “Just make sure he’s okay if you ever see him about. If he mentions wanting to come to me, encourage him. That’s all I ask.” 

For a moment, his kingly demeanour slipped, and the man clutching George’s hands was no more than a frightened, exhausted father, desperate to keep his grip on a child he could barely understand. “I will,” George said, giving Phil’s hands an encouraging squeeze. “I promise you that.” 

Phil pulled him in for a long hug, pressing a quick kiss to the top of George’s head. “Thank you, my boy. Thank you. Go to bed, now. You and your knights are in definite need of a good sleep.”

~ 

Dream’s fire was well into a crackling roar by the time George ambled through the door, swaying ever so slightly. Rubbing at his eyes, he scanned the room. “Where’s Sapnap?” 

“He wanted to sleep in the knights’ quarters. They’re probably quieter without us snoring in them,” Dream replied, sitting back on his heels. The fire felt glorious on his skin, which had retained the bitter chill of the forest and left him shivering for the better part of an hour. “He always needs a moment alone after being out.” 

“It’s just us, then.” George set his bunched-up cape on the floor and moved into the reach of the firelight, which lit his sharp features up in a blazing orange. “Go get your healing gel, please. My hand hurts.” 

Though it only took a moment for Dream to dart to his nightstand and find the small container of gel, George was already in his nightclothes and seemingly fast asleep in front of the fire when he returned. He was curled up on the floor, arms tucked beneath his head, looking almost cat-like in his serenity. When Dream sat down with the container in hand and poked at his shoulder, he only grumbled.

“I’ll make it quick. Then you can sleep,” Dream promised. “This will help with any infections.” 

George shifted onto his other side and placed his bandaged hand onto Dream’s lap. “You must think I’m an idiot for stopping a sword with my hand,” he yawned, his voice equally humorous and resigned. 

“I do somewhat.” Dream pulled the cloth off George’s hand, revealing the deep slice in his palm. The flesh around it had gone a dark purple, camouflaging the lines of black thread used to sew it back together. The cuts on the insides of George’s knuckles had developed thick scabs of half-coagulated blood, keeping his fingers in a perpetual bend. Dream touchedone of his fingers gingerly, wincing as George murmured in pain. “But I also think you’re brave.” 

George let out a short laugh. “I’m not brave. I nearly passed out in my own saddle afterwards.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Dream dipped two fingers into the sweet-smelling gel, enjoying the familiar tingle on his fingertips. “You saved Tommy’s hide. That’s admirable.”

“I’m flattered.” George stiffened as the gel sunk into his wound, gritting his teeth until the initial sting wore off. “Fuck. You didn’t tell me how much that would hurt.” 

“Sorry,” Dream chuckled. “I said I’d get it over with quickly.” 

George slid his free hand beneath his head like a pillow and closed his eyes. A shadow of pink had returned to his pale cheeks. “Phil slapped Tommy today. He told me.” 

Dream paused. “What? He hit him?”

“Yep,” George said darkly. “Tommy called him a coward for failing Manburg and Phil slapped him. He feels terrible about it.” 

“What about Tommy?” Dream asked.

“Phil hasn’t seen him since it happened; that’s why he told me in the first place,” George said. “He wants us to look out for him.” 

There was a small glob of unused gel left on Dream’s finger when he was finished re-wrapping the wound. Mindlessly, he began to rub it into George’s hand, kneading at the delicate flesh with his thumbs. “We can do that,” He replied. 

“You can’t beat him up anymore.” 

“I don’t beat him up unless he gives me a reason to.” Dream squeaked as George’s knee collided with his back. “Fine, fine. I’ll be a bit more gentle with the little monster.”

“And Tubbo, too. I’m scared for him, Dream. This whole situation looks bad.” 

Dream moved his mindless little massage to the base of George’s wrist. “He’s safe now, George. You don’t need to worry about him anymore. Tommy will be fine too, I’m sure of it.” 

George opened his eyes and stared into the darkness of their room with empty eyes. “Can we go get something to eat?” 

“You should sleep. I can go fetch you something if you’d like,” Dream offered.

“No, I want us to go together. I don’t want to be alone in here.” George shuddered. “I don’t really want to sleep anymore either.” 

Dream thought for a moment. “The kitchen should be open. Whether or not they’ll be people in there is debatable, though.” 

A weary smile crossed George’s face. “Let’s go there. Maybe we’ll find Tommy too.” 

He stood, slightly unsteady on his tired legs. Bandaged, bruised, deliriously exhausted and in his wrinkled nightclothes — he hardly looked like a king. A year ago, seeing him in such a state would have been like seeing him naked. Dream probably would have talked Sapnap’s ear off over it.  _ “In his pyjamas!”  _ He would have cried.  _ “As if he were some drunkard!”  _

But it was not a year ago. It was in the light of a roaring fire, with Sapnap’s words an echo in the back of Dream’s mind.  _ “Why are you so weird all of a sudden?”  _

The answer to that question lay deep within him, buried under years of purposeful amnesia and bitter self-hatred. Despite his best attempts to stamp it into non-existence, it clung to life within him like a stubborn weed.

George’s smile, the slight giggle that played upon his lips as Dream stood up, the fury blazing in his eyes as he blocked the deadly ire of a swinging sword and saved a young boy’s life. All of it came too close to giving that stubborn weed the morsel of sunlight it needed to bloom once more. 

Dream had nearly made that mistake once. There was not a chance he’d let it happen again. Especially not now. 

“You lead the way, your Highness,” he said politely, handing George his cape. It sat upon his shoulders like a bath robe. “I’m right behind you.” 

~

As Dream expected, they found the kitchen and adjoining mess hall empty save for a gaggle of young trainees bent over a keg of the shitty beer half the knights back home were addicted to. Though the young men scattered the moment they saw George, Dream couldn’t help but feel fond at the sight of them. He hoped that the Eretians weren’t as barbaric as to deny the SMP knights their alcohol. That bunch would choose go hungry than go dry any day.

“I wonder if they have any leftover bread,” George said. “I’m fucking famished.” 

“Leftover bread sounds stellar right now.” Dream poked his head into the darkened kitchen and sniffed the air. It smelt of soap and spice. “Let’s get this place lit up and see what we can find.” 

George went off to skulk about the iceboxes in the back while Dream lit the gas lamps on the walls, filling the small space with a familiar yellow glow. He and Sapnap had only dared a couple times to go root through the kitchen after hours when they were children, but the memory of choking back laughter through mouthfuls of stale biscuits in the light of a single candle filled his chest with warmth. Never once did he ever expect to do the same with King George.

George skittered back into the room, holding a plate of assorted pastries in his hands. “I feel so exhilarated right now,” he whispered, giggling in a high falsetto. “My dad would have killed me for this when I was a kid. Eating leftover pastries off the top of the bin pile? He would have washed my mouth with soap.” 

He sat down across from Dream and pushed the plate between them. Sliding off his mask, Dream grabbed a square biscuit no bigger than his thumb and popped it in his mouth. It tasted of lemon. “You never snuck into the kitchen as a kid?” 

“How could I have? You were guarding my door every night!” George laughed. “I was so sure you would have tattled that I didn’t even try.” 

He grabbed his own pastry — a palm-sized one that leaked red jam as he broke it in half — and took a tentative bite. “Plus, it’s not like I had many friends to do it with, anyway.” 

“You have friends!” Dream exclaimed. “What about all your lords-in-waiting?” 

“They’re not friends! Hired acquaintances at most. I knew none of them actually liked me.” George licked a spot of jam off the corner of his lip. “Quackity was my only real friend.” 

“And Karl.” Dream remembered the giggling lord-in-waiting quite clearly, mostly because he’d been so irritatingly energetic that Dream had daydreamed more than once about bouncing him off the walls like a sport ball. “Karl was your friend.” 

George smiled softly. “Always a weird one, he was, but the nicest guy you’d ever meet. I haven’t heard from him since El Rapids collapsed. I hope he’s okay.” 

_Well, now my Karl-ball daydream makes me look like a dick._ Dream grabbed the other half of George’s pasty and nibbled at it. Throwing out so many good pastries every day had to be some sort of crime, if not a downright sin. “Sapnap’s my only friend besides Bad. None of the other knights wanted to hang out with me after I got my job because they thought I was an ass-kisser.” 

“What?” George frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to isolate you.” 

Dream waved his hand dismissively, scattering crumbs over both of their laps. “They were all blockheads anyway. Sapnap’s all I need.” 

“And you have me now, too. That makes three friends.” 

“That makes three. A very unlikely three.”

George averted his gaze as they fell into silence. “Hey, now you have an actual reason to keep saving my life. Can’t go back to only having two friends.” 

“Oh, of course not. I’d look like the biggest chump around,” Dream chuckled. “My ego over having three friends is the only thing keeping me from throwing you to the Eretians.” 

“Shut up.” George chucked a piece of pasty at him. “It’s not the only reason.” 

Dream scooched sideways as George bent forward to grab another pastry. “It is! If you decided to stop being my friend again then I’d just leave you to be eaten by a ravager.” 

“You’re such an idiot.” George pressed his lips together but couldn’t stop the toothy grin from bleeding through. “I’m going to fire you.” 

“You’d be so bored without me!” Dream laughed.

“I’d finally have peace for once! I could invite so many people to my room and have so much loud, obnoxious sex —“ 

“Fuck off!” Dream whipped a pastry at him. George grabbed it and tried to throw it back, but Dream caught it in his palm with ease. George reached for another one, and without thinking, Dream blocked his arm with his chest and bowled the two of them over, holding George’s hands to his chest. The plate flipped as Dream’s knee hit its side, scattering pastries around them. “Don’t you fucking try,” Dream panted. “I am so much stronger than you.” 

He was close enough to feel the warmth of George’s breath on his face. George’s mouth was slightly agape, his eyes wide.  _Oh, fuck._ Dream shifted, pulling George’s torso upwards from where he’d been awkwardly bent backwards.  _ Oh, fuck.  _ Dream was practically sitting in his lap. Their legs were pressed together. George’s smile had faded. The world around them was still, silent, as if it were holding its breath.  _ Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.  _

George closed his eyes. His wrists were still in Dream’s hands. Their noses were touching, now. George’s breath smelt of berries. 

_One morsel of sunlight is all it needs._

Dream was on his feet before he realized what was happening. “Dream?” George squeaked. There was fear etched into his flushed face. Dream stepped on a pastry, slipped, and only barely managed to catch himself on the nearby table. His heart was hammering in his chest. _ No, no. Not again.  _

Like a coward, he ran. He ran all the way back to their room, slamming the door of the guest bedroom behind him. He collapsed against the door, panting, and pulled his knees to his chest.

_ I can’t go through this again. I can’t do this again.  _

Memories of George flashed behind his eyelids. George, in his regalia, staring out the window of the carriage; George, pale and bloody, treating him like a friend on the floor of Bad’s cottage; George, wrapped in firelight, caressing his wounds into oblivion.

George, young and gangly, kneeling by his bedside, wiping blood off Dream’s mangled face. 

_I’d barely been strong enough to shut you out that day. How dare you force your way back in?_

George returned some time later, silent. He did not knock, did not speak. He put out the fire himself. When he crawled into bed, Dream swore he heard his breath hitch. All the while Dream remained curled against his door, paralyzed. 

Hours later, when the sun begun to rise, he found sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t hmu just realized nothing I create in this au will ever top @kreativeboom’s masked knight au on insta 😭
> 
> sorry for the long wait! I had writer’s block this week bc I’m so nervous abt writing good romance and my monkey brain is convinced that all my lore must be deep and make sense and the relationships must be super complex and then I get overwhelmed and read Unspoken Rules again 
> 
> but the clout whore is BACK AND IM BRINGING THE PAIN 
> 
> lemme know what y’all think >:) 
> 
> -Ophelia


	17. Burn

_ Dream was in a forest. He did not know how he got there, but the ice-hardened ground digging into his bare feet was a feeling he knew all too well. The wind around him screamed, slicing at his ears with frigid teeth. He was cold, colder than he’d ever been before; his skin burnt, his lips felt like they were made of leather, and when he looked down at his hands he saw there was blackness creeping up his fingertips in twisting little vines. He opened his mouth and tried to scream, but the noise that came out was strangled and quiet.  _

Where am I? 

_A river emerged from the shadows of the world around him, gleaming and white. Dream fell to his knees and crawled for it, forcing his eyes open as a great weight settled on his back._ Sleep , _his mind told him._ Close your eyes and rest, just for a moment. 

_ “No!” Dream said aloud. There was no resting in the forest, not in weather like this. He’d seen too many children curl up into balls and slip away into nothing, their spirits carried away on the bitter breeze. The weight on his back grew heavier. Groaning, Dream dragged himself to the river’s edge and looked down. _

_ The face reflecting back at his was not his own. His hair was darker, his chin a little less pointy. There was no trace of his awful scars. He was younger, smaller, in tattered nightclothes that were not his own. _

_ With one frozen hand, Dream reached up and traced his finger along the curved ram’s horn that circled around his ear. _

_ “Dream!”  _

_ Someone grabbed him, pulling him to their chest. Dream’s face erupted into agony. Phantom hands pulled at his every limb, leaving handprints scorched black into his flesh. He screamed with all his might but was unable to produce more than a low moan that echoed in his ears, becoming the low, raspy breathing of a wither skeleton. _

_ “Dream!”  _

_A face leaned in through the chaos and for a moment, Dream’s nightmare came to a screeching halt._

_“I’m here, Dream.”_

_George had him in his arms, half-curled against his chest. He raised a hand to Dream’s cheek and cupped it gently, unbothered by the blood that leaked through his fingertips. He was the George of now, of yesterday, but the voice that whispered into Dream’s ear was the voice of a young teenager._

_“You’re okay, Dream. I’ve got you.”_

George . _Dream reached for him._ I’m sorry. I was a coward. _His pain was swept away by the glittering river_.  I’m here. I’m here, now. For you.  _ He pulled their foreheads together and breathed in the warmth of his breath. His hand curled around the back of George’s head and pulled him close and — _

Dream started awake, coughing on nothing. His arms felt empty. The soft part of his cheek below his eye, where the scar was thickest, burned with a phantom itch. 

By the time he mustered enough courage to leave his bedroom, George was already gone.

~

The first thing Tubbo did upon seeing Dream was reach for him with both arms and yank him into the tightest hug he’d ever experienced.

“I knew you guys would find me,” he murmured, pressing his face into the crook of Dream’s shoulder and shifting his mask sideways. “You guys are the best.” 

His arms were bandaged all the way to his fingers and his broken horn had been shaved down and rounded into a soft point. There were bandages on his ears, too. The shadow of his experience was present in the bags beneath his eyes and the cracks in his lips that had not yet healed, but he was smiling, and that fact lifted a weight off Dream’s chest.

Across the room from them, in the shadow of a shuttered window, Prince Tommy napped in George’s lap.

“He came to see me last night and hasn’t left since,” Tubbo said. “He had a bad fight with his dad, you know.” 

“George told me,” Dream nodded. “But we’ll help Tommy get everything figured out with his dad. I think he just needs a little time to rest.” 

As if on cue, Tommy shuddered in his sleep, sucking in a breath of air as if choking. George, his eyes trained on the closed window, carded one hand through Tommy’s messy hair and placed the other one on his wing, moving his hand in long, comforting circles. Dream knew he could tell he was staring, but his gaze did not budge.

“I want my dad,” Tubbo whispered. Dream turned, expecting him to say more, but found the child staring past him blankly. After a long moment, Tubbo leaned forward and pressed his face into his bandaged hands. “I feel sick.” 

Dream placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to rub at it comfortingly, but the child was so thin that his fingers only felt bone. Cursing inwardly, Dream twisted his torso and cocked a thumb back at his axes. 

“Want another look? I may be nice and let you touch them, too.” 

Tubbo’s eyes brightened hesitantly. “Yeah! Tommy will be so jealous.” 

Dream was halfway through regaling the origin story of his axes’ many enchantments when he realized he was being watched. When Tubbo was busy inspecting the swirled patterns on one of the blades, he spared a glance sideways, quick enough as to not be noticed.

Tommy was still sound asleep, brow furrowed. George, however, was looking straight at him. His face was cool, neutral, kingly — he was studying him, analyzing his movements. This was the George Dream was used to. The one he’d worked alongside his entire life. 

_ Familiar.  _ That’s what he was. But now the word felt sour on Dream’s tongue.

Perhaps they’d gotten too careless, toed a line they shouldn’t have. George was a king, Dream was a knight, and that’s all they’d ever be.

Tubbo butted Dream’s arm with his head. “Tell me more.” 

_ You should be grilling Phil for information right now. I should be on my feet, axe in hand, ready to slice the smug heads off the Eretians, not sitting on my ass telling a prince a story. We need to do  _ something _ for these poor kids.  _

Dream watched Tommy’s wing flutter in his sleep and chuckled. “Fine, but only because I want you to have lots of stories to tell Tommy when he wakes up.” 

The brightness of Tubbo’s grin calmed his frazzled mind. “You’re so awesome.” 

~

He and George stayed in the infirmary wing until lunch, keeping both boys occupied without passing as much as a single word between them. By the time servants came in with covered trays of sandwiches, Dream felt like he was about to explode. He needed information, an update,  _ something  _ to keep his mind off the burning beacon George’s presence had become over the last couple hours. But Phil didn’t come visit, and neither did Sapnap. Somehow, the latter of those two facts was more of a relief than a worry. Sapnap didn’t know what had gone down between he and George the night before. If he waltzed in, he’d expect them all to be friends, and neither George nor Dream himself were good enough actors to pretend like the night before hadn’t happened. 

_ I don’t even know what the fuck happened.  _ Dream let his head fall against the wall and closed his eyes. Beside him, Tubbo slept soundly, curled around one of Dream’s arms as if he were a comfort animal _._ _ I was so close to you. You  _ wanted _to be close to me._

That thought sent an electric jolt through his body. George had smiled that night, giggled that night. He’d been the one to lean in and nearly dust their lips together. For the first time ever, it was him who crossed that unspoken boundary.  _ What would have happened if I hadn’t ran away?  _

The weed in his chest bloomed a little more, pulled upwards by the memory. _ Fuck off,  _ he wanted to tell it, but the horrible part of his brain wanted to tip his head to the sky and sing.  _ I cut that part of me out long ago. It’s not coming back. It’s better this way. _

That was a downright lie, and Dream knew it. He’d never been able to get rid of that part of him. That’s why he’d shut himself away in the first place, killing any potential friendship with rudeness and scathing (though feigned, but George didn’t need to know that) apathy. 

Going back to square one was something Dream would not risk. 

“Boys?” 

It was Phil, stony-faced and stiff. He was dressed in full regalia, complete with the glittering decorative trident he bounced between both hands. Tommy jerked awake, eyes wide, and practically threw himself against the far wall. “Go away! Go away!” 

Phil’s mouth tightened. “I just want to see Prince George, my boy, I—“ 

Tommy’s wings began to flap erratically and he fell to his knees, skittering beneath Tubbo’s bed until only his eyes were visible beneath the shadows. “Get out! I don’t want to see you!” 

Phil tore his eyes away and looked to the both of them pleadingly. “May I see you two outside?” He asked. 

Dream nodded quickly, placing a gentle hand on Tubbo’s knee as he sat up groggily, eyes flicking between him and Phil in distress. Phil’s wide eyes warmed at the sight of him. “Tubbo, I’m glad you’re awake—“ 

“GO!” Tommy barked. The force in his voice drove all three of them out into the hall, staring at one another awkwardly. In the momentary chaos, George fell against Dream’s side, grabbing onto his tunic as Phil hurried them through the door and shut it behind him. Just as Dream processed the warmth of his hands against his flesh, George pulled himself away and stood at arms’ length, stiff as a board. 

If Phil picked up on the awkwardness between them, he didn’t show it. He continued to bounce the trident between his hands, obviously troubled. “There’s my boy,” he said quietly. “Is he well? What about Tubbo?” 

“They’re as fine as they can be in their situations,” George replied immediately. “They both seem to be sleeping rather easily, though that may be due to shock. I’m not sure Tubbo’s processed what’s happened yet.” 

Phil averted his gaze, running his tongue over his teeth. “The last patrol of knights are finally returning soon. They went off-mission after finding out that Tubbo had been found safe and were briefly captured at the Manburg castle before being released. I’d like you two to be there when they come tell us their findings.” 

“I’d have to return to my room and get properly dressed,” George said. “But we’d be happy to be there.” 

“Good. Full regalia, please. I’ve had a red cape and one of my older crowns delivered to your room. They should work as replacements for your own.” Phil rolled his shoulders back and his wings shuddered as if he were cold. “Depending on the Eretians’ willingness to release King Schlatt, we may need to be ready to travel to a meeting spot at a moment’s notice for negotiations. I’d be happy to get this all over with as soon as possible and return that poor boy to his father’s side.”

Dream’s fingers itched to hold his axes. He craved a battle, to do what he’d been trained for all these years.  _ To put those bastards in the ground for what they did to Tubbo and George.  _

He realized both Phil and George were looking at him and nodded hurriedly. “Yes,” he forced out, wincing internally as George’s eyes flickered with annoyance.

Phil nodded. “I’ll see you two in my chancery, then. The knights are expected to return within the next quarter of an hour.” 

With one last glance at the infirmary door, Phil bowed to the both of them and strode off in the other direction, trident clinking in pace with his steps. When Dream turned around, George was already halfway down the hall, fiddling with one of the buttons on his sleeves. He walked through a stray patch of sunlight and the side of his face and hair was set aglow, practically shining. 

It was so easy to find him beautiful. So painfully easy. 

_ I cannot lose what I have with you.  _ Dream straightened his shoulders and felt himself slip back into his persona. It fit like a worn-out glove, slightly too thin to keep him warm.  _ I’d rather have this than suffer through you realizing how shit of a partner I’d be. It’s better this way. _

George, halfway up the staircase, turned and looked at him blankly. “Are you coming?” 

The upcoming distraction felt like a weight off his chest.  _ Duty calls.  _

~

When Dream wanted a distraction, this was  _ not _ what he meant. 

The knights returned, alright. They returned stripped of their armour and weapons, carrying only their scraps of food and water canteens. They returned blank-faced, skittish, and troubled, muttering amongst themselves as they handed their exhausted horses to the stablehands. Out of the twelve that returned, only three met them in Phil’s chancery. Out of the three, only one of them had the bravery to tell them what they’d found.

“King Schlatt is dead.” 

Phil’s face seemed to lose all colour. “What?”

“King Schlatt,” the weary knight repeated, “He’s dead, your Majesty.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I was there in the prison with him, your Majesty.” The knight’s rust-coloured wings pulled in against him as he shuddered. “They’d made him sick. I don’t know how, but he knew he was dying, your Majesty. I made sure to tell him his boy had made it out alive and was safe.” 

Phil practically fell backwards into his chair, jaw tight. “Sick?” He said, voice at a deadly calm.

The poor knight turned to his two silent comrades, eyes wide, but they remained still as statues against the wall. All three of them looked positively drained, terrified under the gazes of two kings in full regalia. “I don’t know, your Majesty,” he stammered. “His breath smelt of sulfur and he was coughing up blood the whole time I was down there with him. He died a couple hours before Eretians let us go. I did my best to tell him his Aether Rights and—“ 

Phil slammed his fist down onto his desk, causing all three knights to jolt. “Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Those bastards.” 

George’s eyes were wide with terror. “Tubbo...” 

“I will see to it that all twelve of you receive the care you deserve. Thank you, my friends.” Phil’s voice seemed devoid of all emotion. He waved a single hand in the air. “You three are dismissed. Please head to the second infirmary wing immediately.” 

The knights scurried off without another word, too frazzled to even bow as they left. Once they were out of sight, Phil buried his face in his hands and pulled at the hair framing his face. George leaned back in his chair, mouth moving without sound. The small golden crown nestled in his hair fell askew, tipping over his forehead. Dream’s own knees felt like they were made of pudding.

King Schlatt was dead. Truly, undeniably dead. Had they not saved Tubbo, Manburg’s entire royal bloodline would be dead as well, slaughtered in one merciless swoop. An invasion was one thing, but to kill a king? That was something that could not be reversed, could not be made better with the reluctant trade of a sea port or diamond mine. 

The Eretians wanted far more than Phil and George been prepared for, and Schlatt had paid the price for them. 

“What do we do next?” George asked incredulously. “The Eretians murdered King Schlatt!” 

“Shh!” Phil hissed. He’d gone white as a sheet. “Do you want a servant to hear? Keep your voice down.” 

“Phil! Is that what matters right now?” George took his crown off and buried his fingers in his hair. “Aether Almighty, how are we supposed to tell Tubbo?” 

Phil rose, sending a spike of panic down Dream’s spine. His wings were outstretched, stiff as boards. He breathed once, twice, then his whole body seemed to relax. “I’ll tell Tubbo myself, George. Don’t worry.” 

“But — and what about—“ George started.

“Tomorrow, we ready our forces to invade Manburg. After all, we hold its rightful king.” Phil’s voice was gentle, strikingly different from moments before. “Tonight, our priority is Tubbo. Like it or not, King Schlatt doesn’t need us anymore. He is safe now.” 

_ Tubbo.  _ Dream felt the choking grip of grief grab him in a vice hold.  _ That poor child. He’s so little.  _

George had been expecting his father’s death when it had finally happened. After months of watching him slowly wither away, it was a near mercy to see him go. George himself had been newly nineteen, thin and lithe as always but no longer lanky. He was an adult, both in mind and in body.

That hadn’t spared him from an ounce of grief. Not a single one. 

“You two may return to your rooms if you’d like,” Phil said softly. “I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to be there when I bear the bad news.” 

“You’re doing it already?” George said, rising to his feet. His hands were shaking. “I want to come, I do, but—“ He let loose a shaky breath— “Just give me a moment. Please.” 

“It’s no use delaying the inevitable,” Phil said. “Take a moment to recompose. Allow me to inform Tubbo myself and then meet us in the infirmary.” 

His tone was stern but bore no sharpness, his orders simple and clear.  _ This is a father’s voice, not a king’s. _ George grimaced and inhaled sharply, but sunk back into his seat nonetheless. Phil nodded slowly. “I know this is hard for you, George. I will not stop you from comforting Tubbo in his time of need, but I can’t in good conscience allow you to be there when I tell him the news.” 

“I understand,” George whispered stiffly. “Go now. I’ll be okay.” 

Phil turned his eyes to Dream.  _ Take care of him,  _ his gaze said. Then he turned to the door, smoothed his robes, and walked out with his hands folded in front of him. For a man with the weight of everyone’s grief upon his shoulders, his steps were light, steady, and calm.

_That poor boy’s world is crumbling today._ Dream watched George stare at the discarded crown with blazing eyes and fought the fleeting urge to move closer, to press his trembling fingers between his own palms and hold them until they steadied once more. George needed a knight, not a friend. He needed someone to stand beside him as king and protect him from harm.

Perhaps that was the worst part. Dream couldn’t protect him from this kind of harm, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t protect Tubbo, either. He could barely protect himself.

George stifled a sob as he finally rose to his feet once more after a couple minutes of pained silence. Dream pretended not to hear it. 

“Let’s go,” he said, voice wavering. “Tubbo will need us.” 

Dream only nodded silently.

~

They found Tommy first, curled in one of the stairwell windows. One of his hands was bandaged. “Hello,” he murmured as they passed, eyes trained on the figures milling about in the sunny courtyard below. 

“Have you seen Tubbo recently?” George asked. He felt like there were vines growing up his throat, catching his words as he tried to speak. Thankfully, his voice stayed steady.

Tommy shook his head. “I left after my dad came in to get you guys. Tubbo kept trying to get me to talk to him and shit so I got mad and left.” 

George pursed his lips. _Oh Gods. He doesn’t know._ “And you haven’t heard the news?” 

Tommy stiffened and turned his head to look at him, eyes wide. “What news?” 

Dream spoke before he was forced to answer. “You should come with us, Tommy.” 

George took a step ahead, desperate to run.  _ I can’t do this. I can’t do this. _ Tommy jumped to his feet and grabbed onto Dream’s sleeve, face white as a sheet. “What news?” He repeated as they began walking again. “What news, Dream? What happened?” 

“Tubbo’s father has passed.” The words seemed as unpleasant for Dream to speak as they were for George to think. Tommy’s face fell. “Your dad is giving him the news now.” 

“What? I—“ Tommy took a step forward, stumbled, then covered his mouth with his hands. “What the fuck! Holy shit! I have to see him!” 

He blew past George, down the rest of the stairs, and was gone in the blink of an eye. George allowed himself to let out a breath and forced his tightening throat to relax. There was a pit in his stomach now, hot and roiling and painful. Every fibre of his being wanted to hide, to run, to be anywhere else. 

“Thank you.” 

George’s voice came out barely above a whisper. Any louder, and he felt he would shatter. “Huh?” Dream said. 

“Thank you,” he said again. He turned his head slightly, allowing himself to see the shape of Dream’s figure out of the corner of his eye. “I couldn’t tell Tommy myself.” 

“Oh.” Dream swallowed. “Don’t mention it.” 

They didn’t speak again down the rest of the stairwell, nor did they speak as they walked the long hall. When the first broken wail hit their ears and stole the air from their lungs, George uttered a single word. 

“ _ Gods. _ ” 

Tommy stood outside the infirmary doors, leaned up against the wall just out of sight. As they neared, he practically threw himself into George’s arms. “It’s bad,” he whimpered. “It’s bad — Tubbo, he—“ 

Another choked sob from within the infirmary hit them like a blade, forcing Tommy into silence as he dissolved into silent tears. Gods, help them all. Tubbo was crying so hard he was coughing, gasping for air George knew wouldn’t come. 

_ That had been the worst part; crying myself to breathlessness and gasping for air I couldn’t find. I thought I was going to die. Once, I dragged myself to my door and just laid there, praying you’d hear me. You didn’t.  _

Phil emerged from the darkness, exhaustion falling off him in waves. “Tommy,” he said, hands raising momentarily as if welcoming him for a hug before falling again. “Go be with him.” 

Tommy shook his head wordlessly. Phil frowned. “I won’t come in if you don’t want me there.” 

“That’s not it.” Tommy pulled his wings in around himself. “I can’t help him.”

“Sometimes, when the pain is that bad,” Phil said softly, “All you can do is be there for him.” 

Memories in George’s mind began to play in muted colours.  _ “I’m here, Dream. I’m here. You’re okay.”  _

_ “I can’t see! I can’t see!”  _

Dream let out a soft sigh. His head turned ever so slightly. George knew he was looking at him.

_ “It’s okay, Dream. You saved my life. It’s okay.”  _

_ Dream’s hands grappled for him blindly. George caught one of them as it brushed his face and held it tightly in both of his. Around them, medics and stablehands rushed about in colourless blurs. “I’ve got you, Dream. I’ve got you.”  _

_ There was blood on George’s hands, on his tunic and pants. One of his arms was numb. He did not care.  _

_ “You’re going to be okay.”  _

“Go be with him. Sit in silence if you need. Let him grieve.” 

_“Take this.”_

_Dream opened a fluttering, bloodstained eye. “They told me I couldn’t have any more.”_

_George placed the small pill in one of Dream’s palms and wiped a glob of blackened blood out of the corner of his eye. “This one is supposed to be for me, but I’m not in too much pain. It will help you sleep.”_

_Dream’s voice was soft and weary. “Thank you, George.”_

Tommy disappeared into the darkness of the infirmary, where Tubbo’s sobs continued steadily as though it were some sort of awful melody. George grabbed Dream’s sleeve, unable to stop himself. His knees felt weak. “Take me to my room,” he said, his voice strangled. “Please. I can’t do this.” 

Sadness shone in Phil’s grey eyes. “I’ll stay with the boys. They’ll be alright, I promise.” 

_I haven’t missed you this much since the morning after they’d buried you._

“Thank you, Phil,” Dream replied. He placed a gentle hand on the small of George’s back. “Let’s go.” 

George’s throat had closed. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, could barely  _ move _ for fear of all the grief and anguish roaring in his throat bursting forth and swallowing him whole. Dream nudged him once, twice. “Your Highness?” His voice was warm and alive and safe. George wanted to bury himself in that safety.

_ I’d give anything to see you again, Dad. _

“I’ll leave you to your privacy,” said Phil. He reached forward and grabbed George’s trembling hand. “Sleep, George. I will update you in the morning. For now, this situation is in my hands and my hands only. You may rest.” 

George watched him as he slipped into Tubbo’s bedroom, paralyzed by the pain in his chest. Part of him wanted to follow him, to curl up and become the lost, grieving teenager he’d once been just to feel the warmth of a father’s comfort again. His knees buckled, but Dream caught him as he fell. “Come on,” he said, lifting him into his arms. “We all need sleep.” 

“That poor child,” George whispered into Dream’s shoulder. “He’s only twelve. He’s so little.” 

The gentle sway of Dream’s footsteps rocked him into a trance as they ascended the stairwell. George felt another kind of pain bloom in his chest — humiliation. Deep, paralyzing humiliation.  _ I feel so stupid right now.  _

They entered his room, Dream kicking the door behind them closed. He took a step towards George’s bed but George forced himself to kick his legs out of Dream’s grip and stand on his own. His legs burned with the effort of keeping himself upright but seeing Dream stiffen as he walked to his bed took the edge off the embarrassment boiling in his bloodstream. Using the last of his energy, George kicked off his boots and dragged himself into his bed.

The bed creaked as Dream sat down beside him. He rested a warm hand on George’s side. “I don’t need your pity,” George whispered. 

“I don’t pity you,” Dream replied. His voice made George want to slap him and kiss him all at once. 

“I’m no fool, Dream.” George wanted to shake Dream’s hand off of him but couldn’t bring himself to do it.  _ Pathetic.  _ “You made yourself clear last night. There’s no use trying to be noble about it.” 

“I’m not being noble.” Dream’s hand tightened on his side. “I want to be here.” 

_I hate you for how much I want you to hold me right now_.  George buried his face in his pillow as a sob ripped free.  _ I hate you for making me vulnerable.  _ “Leave me be. The last thing I need right now is you making me feel worse.” 

“I’m not leaving,” Dream said stubbornly. “You need me here.” 

“What I  _ need _ right now is for you to be honest with me.” George forced himself into a sitting position, meeting Dream eye-to-eye, and pulled his mask off before he could protest. “Whether I like it or not, you are aware of my feelings. Do you return them or not?” 

Dream’s face stilled, dragging George’s heart to a halt along with it.  _Don’t leave me alone,_ one part of his brain wanted to scream.  _ I will not chase you,  _ another part said.  _ I am a king. I am brought to my knees by nobody.  _

“I don’t.” 

There it was, plain and simple. George gritted his teeth. “Then it’s best for both of us if you leave.” 

Dream’s eyes fell, closing as he breathed in several long breaths. “George,” he started.

“I’m not punishing you.” George turned away, laying his head on the pillow as agony crawled up his throat. “I’m giving you freedom. Go see Sapnap.” 

“I don’t  _ want _ to see Sapnap.” Dream grabbed his mask from the bed and stood up. George refused to let himself relish in his words. “I’m supposed to protect you.” 

George laughed humourlessly. “Go protect the orphaned child we left downstairs because I cannot get a handle on my own feelings.” 

“George!” 

For the first time since the knights had returned, George felt peaceful. White-hot flames licked at the inside of his ribcage, feasting on the charred remained of his organs. He felt empty, burnt out to nothing.  _ Apathy has never felt so blissful.  _ “Dream.” 

“You mean more to me than anyone else in the world. I’m  _ your _ knight, I’m—“ 

“Don’t say things like that.” George smiled and wiped at a tear dribbling down his chin. “Not now. Please.” 

Dream deflated, pain flickering in his eyes. George moved onto his back and raised one of his hands and Dream took it immediately, pressing the back of his palm to his lips. 

_ It should feel nice to see you care.  _ All George wanted to do was sleep.  _ But instead all it does is hurt me more.  _ “I’ll be okay, Dream. I just need to rest.” 

“I’ll be outside.” Dream slipped his mask back on. “If you need anything, come and get me.” 

_ I need so many things you can’t give me. I need my dad, my kingdom. I need you to need me back. _

George nodded. “I will. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, your Highness.” 

~

Dream leaned his head on the wall, closing his eyes until the lump in his throat had disappeared.

_It’s better this way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine getting friendzoned during a ptsd attack abt ur dead dad lol L 
> 
> this chapter was hard as hell to write but I love pain so it was also incredibly fun 
> 
> y’all wanted these boys to communicate???? HAHAHAHAH no bitch that would be too easy
> 
> edit: holy shit y’all’s comments getting mad at Dream are fucking hilarious I love every single one of you /g
> 
> -Ophelia


	18. Wounds That Sting

Dream woke to a gentle yet firm poke in the side. Though it was barely dawn, the knights’ quarters were bustling with noise and movement. Half-dressed knights moved about each other with furrowed brows and sharp voices, tossing apples and chunks of bread to one another as they slipped tunics on and picked stray feathers from their wings. “You’re up!” One knight said as he passed by, wiping at his freckled face with a wet towel. He chucked a small apple into Dream’s lap and chuckled. “I can’t believe you slept with that mask on, dude. That thing’s fucking terrifying.” 

He laughed as he was pulled away by a chattering friend, disappearing into the sea of muscled arms and glinting armour. Dream leaned back with a sigh, only noticing the movement beside him as a figure encroached on his peripherals and flicked the corner of his mask.

“Today’s the day,” Sapnap said with a yawn, scratching at the shadow of facial hair beneath his chin. “We finally get to beat the shit out of some Eretians.” 

Dream picked the apple up off his lap and inspected it. It was soft— he only liked crunchy apples. “Woohoo,” he said blankly, tossing it into Sapnap’s eager hands. “Great.”

“Come on, dude! Isn’t this what we’ve been waiting for? We’ve been sitting on our asses here for weeks!” Sapnap exclaimed. “If we take Manburg back, then getting our kingdom back will be a piece of cake!” 

_We haven’t got a clue what the hell we’re running into._ Dream swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood. His stiff back cracked loud enough to make Sapnap choke on a mouthful of apple. “Something feels off. I wish we had more time to plan.” 

“Apparently forces must mobilize immediately if an allied king is killed and reclaim the invaded territory.” A bustling knight ran by and dropped Sapnap’s vest into his lap. “The longer we wait, the longer the Eretians have time to settle in and mess shit up.” 

“Still. I don’t like it,” Dream grumbled. He threw on his clothes as quickly as he could, ignoring Sapnap’s squawks of protest for him to slow down, and darted his way out of the knights’ quarters with Sapnap at his heels. As early as it was, the whole castle was unusually alive and buzzing with nervous energy. As they rounded the staircase, two figures appeared from the opposite hall — Prince Technoblade, clad in gleaming netherite armour, and Prince Tommy’s half-enderman friend, somehow looking excited and as though he’d rather be anywhere else at the same time. 

“Dream!” Technoblade called. “Are you on your way to see my dad?” 

Dream nodded. “He’s awake?” 

“He’s in a meeting with King George. I’m surprised you’re not there already,” Technoblade chuckled. “Give him this—“ he handed Dream a small scroll stamped with royal blue wax— “It’s a message from some soldier patrols we sent up north to keep an eye on the pillager towns. They’ll be making sure all the portals stay open for us.” 

Dream bowed his head respectfully. “I’ll make sure this gets to him. Thank you.” 

“No problem.” Technoblade clicked his fingers. “Ranboo, let’s go.” 

The half-enderman boy waved at them shyly as they walked away, his thin tail whipping side to side. Once he was out of earshot, Sapnap snorted quietly. “How much would you have to drink to fuck an enderman?”

Dream whacked him with the scroll. “This is why I don’t bring you places with me,” he muttered. 

Sapnap crinkled his nose as they began walking again, slowing his pace just enough toslip from Dream’s vision. Dream heard the familiar sound of him unsheathing a knife from his vest and internally sighed.  _ Here we go.  _

“Something’s up with you.” 

Dream paused and turned his head to look back. Sapnap had a small knife between his fingers and was toying with it as if it were no more than a piece of string. His dark eyebrows were furrowed, and as he huffed through his nose at Dream’s unenthused stare he rolled his shoulders back and leaned his weight on one leg. Dream felt discomfort climb up his throat; Detective Sapnap was one of his least favourite Sapnaps. Questions always led to complication. 

“We need to get to this meeting,” Dream said sternly, though Sapnap only rolled his eyes. “Dude! I’m serious!” 

“You’re all fucked up about King George again!” Sapnap pointed the small dagger at him and scowled. “What happened this time?” 

_Am I really that obvious?_ Dream slid a hand beneath his mask and rubbed at his eyes until stars swam in his vision. “King George and I are on delicate terms right now. I’d appreciate if you stayed out of it.” 

“Fuck. What did you do?” Sapnap said. 

“Nothing!” Dream replied shrilly. Gods almighty, he hated questions. “We had a very healthy discussion about our boundaries.” 

Sapnap’s face morphed into a mix of astonishment, embarrassment, and hurt. “Dude, did he reject you?” He said softly. 

_I think that would have hurt less if that was what happened._ Dream groaned into his hands. “No, dickhead. It’s him who’s complicated.” 

Unable to force any more out, Dream whirled around on his heel and stalked off down the hall. He didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping Technoblade’s scroll until he felt the wax seal begin to crumble beneath his thumb.  _ Pull yourself together,  _ he ordered himself , but his brain was already screaming. Sapnap knew, now. He  _ knew .  _

A shiver ran down Dream’s spine.  _ This is all coming too close to the surface for comfort. Keep your big mouth shut next time, Idiot. You’re fucked if anyone finds out.  _

But as far as Sapnap knew, Dream didn’t return George’s feelings. As far as Sapnap knew, Dream’s feelings towards his king were nothing — and had always  _ been _ nothing — but strictly friendly. He had at least something to hide behind if Sapnap came sniffing around again. 

Sapnap didn’t say anything until they’d reached the doors of King Phil’s chancery. “You’re stupid as fuck for rejecting King George.” His voice was no more than a humorous mutter. “You could have gotten me so much free shit from him. Kings make great sugar daddies.” 

Dream’s fingers tightened on the plated gold handle. It was cool and soft beneath his fingers. 

_ Sometimes, I think I almost deserve to strangle you. _

~

“You should eat.” 

George turned. Dream stood behind him, arms crossed. “Hm?”

“You and Phil decided that we’d leave at dawn.That’s pretty soon,” Dream said. “You should eat before we go.” 

George turned back to the window and watched the ant-sized lines of mounted soldiers gathering in the courtyard. “I ate before the meeting.” 

That was a lie. He’d barely been able to stomach the couple biscuits Phil had forced on him hours before. His stomach felt as if filled with cotton balls, empty and full at the same time. 

Dream’s presence made his body want to light those cotton balls on fire and burn him out all over again. Part of George wanted that. Anything would feel better than the gnawing dread that had settled over every inch of his body. His fingers drifted to his bandaged hand and traced mindless circles over the lines of gauze.

“You look pale. I didn’t even see you touch your tea the entire time.” 

Dream’s voice was gentle, but the awkwardness between them stripped his words bare of any comfort they may have given. George sighed, turning his eyes back to the window. _ I feel like I’m standing here naked in front of you.  _ “A lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours, Dream. I can’t say I’m at my best.” 

They hadn’t talked since the night before. Aether Above, they hadn’t even  _ seen  _ each other. George had gone over what it would be like to see him again in his mind countless times in a feeble attempt to prepare himself, but now that Dream was there, mere inches away with pity rolling off him, the pain George had been fearing had come roaring back in a merciless wave.

“Your Highness, please let me get you something to eat before we leave.” 

“I have things packed,” George said through gritted teeth.

Dream’s armour clinked as he shifted uncomfortably. “Your Highness,” he started again, “As your knight, I—“ 

“Quiet!” George snapped. Dream froze. “King Phil has a team of guards that will be protecting us on this mission, therefore  _ they’re _ the ones tasked with managing my well-being.” Without turning back to look at him, George moved past Dream with as much confidence as he could muster and placed his hand on the chancery door’s ornate handle. “Focus on the knights you and Sapnap will be leading and that is it.” 

He turned the door handle and breathed an internal sigh.  _ I can do this.  _

“ _ What? _ ” 

Dream was upon him in the blink of an eye, fists clenched. “You didn’t tell me I wouldn’t be protecting you on this mission.” 

“I made it clear you and Sapnap would be leading a patrol along with Phil’s head knight,” George said cooly, pulling the door open with a gentle squeal. “I assumed you would infer from that.” 

They walked in uncomfortable silence back to George’s room, Dream hanging at his heels with enough tension radiating off of him to make Prince Wilbur give them a nonplussed glance as he strode by. George’s heart pounded in his ribcage.  _What’s his fucking_ _deal?_ He thought to himself. Suppressing the urge to pick his already-pitiful nail beds into bloody shreds, George folded his hands in front of him and kept his pace steady. 

_ You can wait to tear my head off, asshole. I have the power to make you wait. _

By the time the door to George’s door had clicked shut behind them, Dream looked ready to explode. George sat down on his bed and unclipped his cape, letting it slide to the floor by his feet. A servant had left a set of gleaming netherite armour on a stand by his bedside table, and the light of the rising sun set the armour’s pristine surface alight into an array of violet swirls.

_ It reminds me of your axes.  _

“George,” Dream said. “You can’t be serious.” 

George set his mouth into a tight line. “I am.” 

“I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you! You can’t just throw me aside!” 

“I’m using your talents to the best of their abilities to help a mission, Dream. I’m not throwing you aside.” George gritted his teeth. “Stop throwing a tantrum because I’m not letting you get ego boosts off of me anymore.” 

“That’s not—“ Dream ripped off his mask and slammed it down on the nearby table with enough force to rattle the windows. “You think I’m doing this for  _ ego boosts _ _?_ Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Rage glowed in his eyes but George couldn’t bring himself to care. “It seems so. You lose your goddamned mind every time you can’t come sweep your helpless king off his feet. Is that why you stuck around for so long? You liked feeling like a big man?” 

“Fuck you! I devoted my life to keeping you safe!” Dream spat. “You don’t get to fucking punish me over nothing and make me look like the bad guy just because you’re mad at me!” 

George opened his mouth but the words crumbled like burning paper in the flames rolling off his tongue. Dream thrust a finger at him, baring his teeth. “Don’t be mad at me because I know what’s best for the relationship we have. You  _ can’t _ _—_ “ 

“I know you don’t return my feelings, Dream. That’s not the issue here!” George cried. “You need to get the fuck over yourself and realizing you’re not the only person able to keep me safe!” 

“You just said I was doing this for fucking ego boosts!” 

“I think you’re being possessive over my safety for ego boosts!” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Dream’s voice had risen to a furious shout. “I  _ know _ you know it! The only reason you even have feelings for me is because I was the one to swoop in and save you when you needed it!” 

“That’s not true!” George hissed. “I am not that shallow!” 

“You know that’s all I’m good for! I’m a service, your Highness!” Dream threw his hands up in the air and a small sob ripped free from his throat. “ _ That’s _ what you fell in love with. Not me!” 

“Leave.” George pointed to the door. “Leave, now.” 

Something in Dream’s expression seemed to shatter. “Leave!” George repeated, loud enough to make him wince. Slowly, with shaking hands, he picked his mask up off the table and slipped it on. George forced himself to swallow the lump rising in his throat. “I will not sit here and have you question my character. Get out of my sight.”

Dream drew in a shuddering breath. “George, I—“ 

“And if I die during this mission because you weren’t there to save me,” George continued in a whisper. “Then feel free to gloat. You’d deserve it.” 

“If I die,” Dream breathed after a moment. “Then hire Sapnap as your new guard. All the other knights are stupid.” 

“Will do.” 

“Thank you.” 

George turned back to his set of armour, not daring to even breathe until the sound of Dream’s steps had faded down the hall. A horrible sense of finality clawed up his back and he was on his knees before he knew it, choking into his hands.  _ It’s over. We’re over.  _

George leaned his forehead on the chestplate before him and chuckled to himself, low and raw and resigned.  _ You fucked this up yourself, Georgie. Now you’ve lost him for good.  _

Perhaps it was better that way. 

_ (And perhaps George could actually convince himself of that.)  _

~

The moment Dream stepped into the courtyard, he heard a voice cry out from above him. “Dream!” 

A figure landed beside him in a silvery-green blur, startling Dream into dropping one of his axes. Dream gritted his teeth and scowled. “What?” 

He whipped around to face an armoured young man with the brightest green wings he’d ever seen. Chuckling nervously, the young man said, “I’m King Phil’s head knight, Sam. Sapnap’s been looking for you.” 

Dream breathed a sigh and swallowed the irritation bubbling in his throat. “Tell him I’m coming. I just had to finish something.” 

Sam nodded. He reminded Dream of the knights from back home — bulky, tall, friendly as one of the field horses. The young trainees Dream had helped train over the years would have latched on to someone like Sam immediately. 

They’d never liked Dream, and Dream never blamed them.

“We’ll be at the front waiting for you.” Sam pointed a finger past the assembling lines of knights. “The formation is our guys up front, then medics, then the small cannons and archers, the kings and the specialty patrol, then more small cannons to protect the back. I’ve already got some guys flying up ahead to check for traps.” 

Dream felt a stab of guilt. “You guys really have all this planned out. I’m sorry I couldn’t have done more to help.”

“Don’t mention it!” Sam said with a smile. His green wings glimmered almost iridescently in the sunrise. “Sapnap mentioned you had things to take care of with King George. I understand completely.” 

_ Thank you, Sapnap.  _ Dream shuddered away the memory of what had happened back in George’s room.  _ I definitely took care of what I had to take care of. _

“Alright, I’ll see you there!” Sam said, then pushed off into the sky with a single flap of his wings. Stretching his shoulders, Dream fixed his mask and began moving past the knights and mounted cannons as what seemed like every personnel in the castle prepared to leave. Some knights waved as he passed, while some merely glanced at him and turned away, muttering in low murmurs.  _ Now this feels like normal.  _ A fleeting wave of peace rushed over him. A guard, a knight, a fighter —  _ that’s _ who he was supposed to be. Not a lapdog to a king. 

Sapnap, mounted on the same grey horse he’d ridden on their rescue mission, tossed him the reins to a speckled brown mare as he darted up to the front of the patrol. “Her name’s Patches,” he said, leaning back on his saddle as Dream hefted himself up onto his horse’s back. “Get acquainted with her while we wait. A messenger will sound a horn when the kings are ready.” 

“Sounds good.” Dream kicked the mare into action and trotted a lazy circle around Sapnap and his horse, leaning out of the way with a laugh as Sapnap reached to punch him on the arm. Sam, perched atop a monstrous draft horse, gave them both a low chuckle. Dream would have probably found him to be irritating if he weren’t so charming. Perhaps it was the wings. “You two are in good moods. Excited for a battle?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Dream stretched his arms. “I want to give those assholes a piece of my mind for what they did to Tubbo.” 

“You and I are on the same page. I hate it when people fuck with kids,” Sam said with a frown. “I have a soft spot for Prince Tommy. He used to come to me for combat lessons when he needed to unwind.” 

Sapnap let out a piercing cackle. “ _ You’re  _ the one who taught him how to punch? You’ve created a monster! You should have seen him nearly break Dream’s nose a week or so ago.” 

Sam’s eyes widened, and a deep blush spread across his pale cheeks. “Aether Almighty! I’m sorry.” 

A phantom ache spread down the bone of Dream’s nose.  _ I don’t think I’ll ever forgive the little shit for that.  _ “It’s not your fault. Good on you for trying to help the little monster with his emotions. I’d have thrown him off a mountain by now if I had to play counsellor for him.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Sam waved a hand dismissively. “He’d have made a fine knight if he wasn’t a prince. He reminds me of you, Dream. There’s a hell of a brain on that kid.” 

“I’m no brain,” Dream said, “But thank you. I’ll let your compliment boost my ego insufferably.” 

The low drone of a horn drifted through the air. Sam sat up in his saddle and smiled. “That’s our cue, boys. Let’s go take Manburg back.”

Dream rolled his shoulders back and felt the morning’s pain fall off him like an unbuttoned cape.  _ I’m home.  _

~

They reached Manburg with no resistance. The portals were open, clear, free of even a single Eretian guard. There were no traps along the river, no snipers hiding in the trees in the forest. Dream couldn’t even see a single cannon outside the castle as it crested over the horizon. 

Something was terribly wrong.

“This is weird,” Dream said, pulling Patches to a halt. Sam raised a hand, signalling for the rest of the patrol to stop. “We should have seen at least some resistance by now.” 

“They’re drawing us into the castle,” Sam replied, eyebrows furrowed. “I’d bet on the castle being booby-trapped seven ways to Sunday. We have to keep the patrols small as we go in.” 

“Small patrols?” Sapnap exclaimed. “We’d have no chance!” 

“They want us to go in all at once so they can ambush and take us all down in one swoop. I’ve studied these bastards.” Sam waved the trio of messengers over. “I know their tricks.” 

He bent down to the trio and pointed at the castle. “High chance the castle is booby-trapped,” he said, his voice stern and steady. “We’re sending in groups no bigger than ten at a time. Any Manburgian soldiers are to be immediately evacuated and sent outside to the medics. Under no circumstances are the kings to enter the castle.” 

Once the messengers had flown off to alert the group, Sam turned to Sapnap and Dream. “I can go in first if you guys want.” 

“No,” Dream said immediately. “I don’t have a clue how to lead a cannon patrol. Sapnap and I will go in through the second floor windows and scope it out there with some of your dudes.” 

Sam looked to Sapnap, who merely responded with a thumbs-up. “Sounds good to me,” he said. “Keep your horns close by in case anything goes wrong. I’ll have backup stay close to the castle just in case.” 

That had been their first mistake — going into the castle at all. At first glance, it had seemed entirely empty. Every door they bust down led to a room scrubbed clean, void of even the slightest indication of life. Even the walls had been stripped bare of every torch or candle. Down they went into the kitchens, a series of bedrooms, into an ornate office Dream assumed was King Schlatt’s chancery, and still they saw or heard nothing. 

Their second mistake was entering the basement.

“It smells like sulphur in here,” Sapnap said with a wince. Behind them, their patrol murmured in agreement. The scent didn’t hit Dream until a moment later, sharp and thick in his nose like acrid smoke. Had the Eretians been killing creepers down there or something? 

The castle’s basement stretched out in front of them, half-obscured by darkness. Though they hadn’t seen a lick of danger since they’d arrived, Dream debated turning them around and leaving. Something wasn’t right. Invasions were supposed to be loud and bloody — never,  _ ever _ were they silent. 

_ You didn’t hear that man sneaking up on you until he already had a fish knife in your arm. That’s why I had to save you.  _

A familiar headache bloomed over Dream’s eye. He hated silence. 

Something clattered in the darkness at the end of the hall, sending their patrol into a momentary frenzy as they all simultaneously unsheathed their weapons. Heart pounding in his chest, Dream called out, “Who’s there?” 

“Help!” A weak female voice replied. “They have me chained against the wall! I can’t move!” 

_ I recognize that voice.  _ Dream caught Sapnap’selbow as he moved to take a step. “Are you injured?” He said into the darkness. 

The young woman’s voice devolved into hacking coughs. “Please!” She cried hoarsely. “They’ll be back soon! You need to help me!” 

Dream’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Tentatively, he took a single step forward, motioning for the rest of the platoon to remain where they were. A blurry figure moved in the darkness, low and slumped close to the floor.  _Whose voice is that?_ Dream’s mind searched desperately for the source of the familiarity. 

A knight behind him coughed. The smell of sulphur was strong enough in Dream’s nose to make his eyes water. 

“Please...” The shape of a hand reached towards him as he moved closer. “Help me, please...”

_ Why can’t I hear her chains?  _

Dream stopped in his tracks, but it was already too late. The figure before him rose like a rearing python, face obscured by a ghoulish gas mask. Her satyr’s legs propelled her forward and she careened into Dream’s chest, knocking him backwards. Something light —  _ glass _ , Dream thought in a split second — gleamed in the dim light and came flying towards him. 

_ You. I remember you.  _

A potion bottle shattered against Dream’s temple and engulfed his face in white-hot agony. 

_ You’re the bitch that tried to assassinate George. _

~

“I see someone.” 

A single figure stumbled out onto the castle roof, blowing into their horn so hard the sound was little more than an ear-piercing screech. It wasn’t Dream, George realized with a jolt of terror, nor was it Sapnap. It was one of Phil’s young winged knights, moving erratically from side to side as he fought to rip his armour off. Phil gasped, tightening the hold on his reins. Around them, the soldiers fixing the cannons all froze and watched the lone figure’s frenzy with wide eyes. “What’s wrong with him?” Phil said.

The young knight threw off his chestplate then practically threw himself into the air, his agonized shrieking becoming louder as he rocketed for them. “They’ve got gas!” The young man screamed. “They ambushed us! They’ve got gas!” 

He landed in a heap beside one of the cannons, wailing in pain. George slipped off his horse and ran for him, though Sam reached him before he did. “What gas?” Sam demanded, pulling the forgotten shield off the knight’s spasming arm. “What do you mean?” 

“In bottles! Gas in the bottles! It’s so bad you can barely—“The knight’s streaming eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp, trembling. Sam cursed and waved one of the medics over.

_ Dream and the others are still in there.  _ The thought washed over George like a bucket of icy water. He grabbed Sam’s hand as he went to stand. “We have to save the others! They’re still in there!” 

Sam’s eyes were wide, even as a medic slipped between them and began wiping at the young knight’s face with a cloth. “We can’t go back in,” He said. “We haven’t got a clue what’s in there! I’ve never even heard of a gas that smells like sulphur!” 

“You have to go in and save them! They could all be dead by now!” 

“I can’t send more soldiers in there with whatever the fuck kind of gas that is!” Sam replied sharply. “I’d be sending them to their deaths! We have to help from out here and make it easier for them to get out.” 

“That’s bullshit!”

“It’s what’s best!” Sam opened his wings. “I’m going to go inform King Phil. If you want to be of help, go help with the cannons. We’re staying out here and that’s final.” 

He was gone in a flurry of green, leaving George to curse beneath his breath and return his focus to the knight at his feet. George sunk to his knees but jolted back immediately, gagging as a familiar scent filled his nose. “The fuck is  _ that _ ?” 

The medic furrowed their eyebrows. “Sulphur,” they replied after a moment. “Smells like shit.”

_ Dad smelled like this when he was dying. King Schlatt did too, apparently.  _ George rose to his feet with as much grace as he could muster and stumbled out of range before hacking up a mouthful of bile.  _ I had no idea this is what sulphur smelled like. I always assumed it was the decay from Dad’s wound. _

A jolt ran up his spine. The form of his father laying in bed appeared in his mind’s eye, blurry from the passage of time. The iron box he had in his hands was not, though, and nor was the shattered, smoking arrow that lay within it. 

_“Look at that, Georgie,” his father said. “Arrows like that aren’t easy to find. I’d have probably used it myself if it hadn’t been broken.”_

_George took the iron box from his father’s hands and noticed the acrid stench that wafted off the arrow immediately. “That’s the Dragon’s Breath, my boy,” his father chuckled weakly. “It’s a poison that End Dragons produce to keep na’er-do-wells away from their eggs. Put a couple drops of that onto an arrow and poison will stick to it forever. You should see what it does to fire!”_

_George pushed the box back into his father’s hands. “I don’t want to look at it,” he whispered. “I hate what it did to you.”_

_His father only smiled. “I’ll be fine, George. I always am.”_

George blinked. “Dragon’s Breath.” 

A nearby soldier gave him a startled look. “Huh?” 

“Dragon’s Breath,” George repeated. “That’s what’s in the gas. It’s dragon’s breath.” 

A blur of green whizzed over the sky above him, carrying an unlit torch. George jolted. “Sam!” 

He pushed himself into a sprint, weaving through the frazzled knights until he reached one of the far cannons. Sam straightened his shoulders upon seeing him. “Your Highness,” he started sternly. “King Phil agrees with—“

“I think I know how we can save them,” George interrupted. He could hear the rush of his own blood in his ears. “But we have to move quickly.” 

Sam blinked. “What do you mean?” 

“The gas is made of Dragon’s Breath. It’s the poison used to make tipped arrows,” George panted. “I think I know a way to save Dream and the others.” 

A spark of hope lit in Sam’s eyes. “Really? What is it?” 

George let out a quick breath.  _Time to act like your dad, George._

“We’re going to need a lot of pufferfish.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ everyone who was mad at dre last chapter and wanted to kick his butt: I did it for you guys bc im that nice hope y’all liked it <3 
> 
> im sorry this took so long! I am being weaned off a medication im on and we decided to do it cold turkey bc the meds were making me have tics and let me tell you,,, withdrawal ain’t fun ksfkshdkjf
> 
> However Ophie’s Drug Arc is now DONE and im back on my feet ready to cause some pain!!! This chapter also took so long to write bc turns out im actually a god damn fool idiot bitch baby who knows nothing about fighting, battles or strategy!! 
> 
> follow my tumblr and give me clout OR ELSE @opheliabloo
> 
> -Ophelia


	19. A Breath Of Fresh Air

There was one thing that set Dragon’s Breath apart from all other poisons: it had no cure. Even the strongest effects of wither poison could be nullified if treated quickly enough with milk, but Dragon’s Breath was immune to everything except its own degeneration. By itself, it was a mildly dangerous inconvenience, but when bound to another poison? Downright deadly. 

George cried himself sick in his bathroom the day his father had had to explain to him why milk wouldn’t stop the poison eating away at the festering wound in his shoulder. Though the medics worked tirelessly upon him, it soon became clear they were more focused on alleviating his pain than prolonging his life. His father never once admitted to knowing the immanency of his own death, even as weight sloughed off him by the day and the smell of rot wafting off him became so putrid that the windows in his room needed to be constantly open. 

The medics kept a water-breathing potion on their belts at all time, sipping at it every time they left or entered his father’s room.

“They won’t be of any use to Dream and the others since they’ve already inhaled the poison,” George said, lighting a spark beneath the last brewing stand in the line. “But it’ll save our asses from being blinded and choked out by that stuff when we go in there. That’s why the medics were able to care for Dad near the end without getting sick.” 

Sam nodded intently. Around them, every soldier or medic was bent over a hastily-built brewing stand, dropping nether warts and pufferfish slices into thin-nosed glass bottles.  _ Bless your brain, Phil _ _,_ George thought, watching the man’s figure whizz over their heads and disappear behind the cannons.  _ I’d have never even thought to bring extra potion supplies to a mission.  _

A jolt of energy ran through him and he shuddered, hearing his armour clink as he moved. Sam placed a hand on his knee. “We’re going to get them out, Your Highness. I think we’ve got a good chance now.” 

“We better.” George clenched his hand into a fist and felt the stitches on his palm burn. “Or we’re blowing this castle to fucking bits with every single Eretian inside.” 

One of the soldiers behind Sam raised his hand in the air, holding a bottle in his fist. The liquid inside was a deep blue. “Done!” 

“Take a mouthful and pass it on!” George replied. “We need as many people getting this stuff into them as quick as possible in case the Eretians start pulling bullshit on us.” 

He turned back to Sam and held his hand out. “Another bottle, please.” 

Sam didn’t move. George looked up and found him staring past him in the direction of the castle, eyes wide. “Sam?” George repeated, only to have Sam shush him immediately. With his stomach twisting, George turned and saw two figures standing outside the castle doors. 

_ Oh, fuck. _

It was the pink-haired woman they’d seen on their mission, dressed in glittering netherite armour that rivalled the splendour of George’s own. Beside her, on his knees, was a maskless Dream. Stripped of his armour, his eyes were shut and swollen, his face wet with tears and half-obscured by the blood cascading down the slash in his hairline. The pink-haired woman scanned the crowd as they all quieted and fell into stillness, not even the barest hint of a smile playing upon her youthful face. “Where is King George?” She called in a booming voice. Two gas masks sat upon her hip. “I have something of his.”

She grabbed Dream by a tuft of his hair and yanked him upwards until he was awkwardly half-standing on his trembling legs, gasping for air. George felt his throat tighten. The young woman scanned the crowd again, eyes narrowing.  _ She’s looking for me,  _ George thought with a burst of terror.  _ She hasn’t seen me yet. _

Something cool was pushed into his hands. “Drink,” Sam whispered. “All of it. Now.” 

George turned back around and saw the blue potion sitting in his hands. He looked back up at Sam, who only nodded encouragingly. George put the glass to his lips, closed his eyes, and downed it in a single mouthful. The last drops had just passed his tongue when the woman’s voice rang out again. “I see you, coward. Stand up and talk like a real king.” 

George tossed the empty bottle into Sam’s lap and stood, rolling his shoulders back. The potion didn’t burn on his tongue like a healing potion did; it was rather a tingly coolness that seemed to breathe life into his tired body.  _Please work,_ he internally begged.  _ I’ll be fucked if this gas takes me out.  _

He walked in silence, bracing himself as the stench of sulphur grew stronger with every step. Dream, still blind, stirred in distress when George’s footsteps were near enough to hear. Aether Above, he’d never looked so horrid before. The gas had flushed his skin to a deep, angry red, and there was a spot of vomit by the corner of his trembling mouth. Smirking, the pink-haired woman tossed George one of the gas masks from her hip. “The castle is guarded,” she yelled back at the waiting patrol. “Behave yourselves, and no harm will befall your previous king.” 

“Nice to see you again,” George said flatly, pulling the mask over his mouth. He ached to put it on Dream, to spare his beaten face from any more humiliation, but he had to play king. He had to be strong.  _ Anything to get my men out of this godforsaken place. _

“How is your hand?” The pink-haired woman replied in a buttery tone. George fought the urge to smack her.  _ What a slimy bitch.  _ “I hope you did not cause any lasting harm.” 

“It’s fine. No lasting harm at all.” 

The pink-haired woman led them down the halls of the castle, humming beneath her breath. They’d released so much gas into the air that it left a permanent purplish fogginess in the air. She kept a hand in Dream’s hair, forcing him to stay on his knees and be awkwardly dragged along as they walked. Apart from the occasional hacking cough, Dream remained silent, even as the pink-haired woman threw him to the ground so she could unlock a set of ornate doors. In the moment she turned away, George bent down and touched Dream’s cheek. Though the touch was fleeting, barely more than a clumsy swat given how fast it had to be, the effect on Dream was instantaneous. He pushed his face into George’s hand in the split second they were touching, forcing his swollen eyes to open as much as they could to look at him. A fresh stab of pain shot through George’s chest.  _ What have they done to you?  _

“After you, Your Highness,” the pink-haired woman said a sly chuckle. “The Captain will see you now.” 

George turned away from Dream before their eyes could meet. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. 

_ I’m walking into a blaze den alone and unarmed.  _ George took a deep breath in. The air tasted of sulphur.  _ They’ll char me to dust if I’m not careful.  _

A strikingly familiar form sat at what once was King Schlatt’s desk, fiddling with the golden strings she’d strewn over her small horns. George’s blood turned to ice. 

_ You.  _

“Hello, King George,” said the satyr woman. “It’s been a while.”

~

The pain of having his face carved open with a fish knife was the worst pain Dream had ever felt in his entire life. He’d sworn to himself afterwards that he’d never be in that amount of pain ever again, no matter the cost. It was a coward’s promise, and Dream knew that all too well, but it was his only comfort on those awful days where the memory of feeling a blade pierce his cheek and lodge itself into his tongue played in his mind with such vividness that it would make him physically ill. 

Perhaps it had been foolish of him to think that would be the extent of his life’s suffering.

Every bone in his body was screaming. His skin was on fire. Breathing was difficult, speaking a complete impossibility. He found himself wanting to scream with every breath he forced in or out but couldn’t bring his frazzled body to make a single noise. Even his tongue felt thick and foreign in his mouth, so swollen Dream was worried he’d choke.

_ Choking to death on my own tongue would be a mercy compared to this,  _ Dream thought.  _ Anything but this.  _

George and the sheep woman had been talking long enough for their voices to fade into a low drone in the back of Dream’s mind. Unable to open his eyes, he sat in darkness, half-slumped in his place on the floor. He’d lost track of George’s exact location in the minutes that had passed, but he could tell by the volume of his voice that he was still near. Dream’s fingers itched to hold his axes and the burn of humiliation that scorched along the back of his neck was nearly unbearable.  _ I’m supposed to be the protector _ _,_ he thought bitterly.  _I’m supposed to be the one who solves the problems._

Perhaps that was why feeling George’s fingers caress his burning skin had stung as much as it had comforted him. It was a small mercy, one Dream barely felt he deserved after the words they shared earlier that day, but it was enough to keep him sane for the time being until he came up with a plan. 

_ Actually being able to see would help me a hell of a lot. _ Dream reached up and rubbed at one of his swollen eyes, but the mere touch of his fingers sent his skin aflame. Fighting off the wave of panic-induced panic that seized his chest in an iron grip, he forced his hand back into his lap and focused on the sound of George’s voice as he began to speak. 

“You have what you want.” George’s voice was muffled by the gas mask he wore, but his weariness was palpable. “I have nothing more to give you. Let my men go in peace and we’ll leave you to your new territory.” 

“We don’t have what we want, though. Not all of it,” replied the sheep woman. “The ram prince lives, as do you. You are liabilities to our cause.” 

_ Cause? Are you a fucking cult?  _ Dream wanted to scream. He shifted off his sore knees with a low grumble and coughed. Someone whacked the back of his head hard enough for it to make his ears ring. 

“Stop that,” George ordered. “You’re in the presence of your captain and a king. Have some respect for etiquette.”

The sheep woman tutted amusedly. “Don’t snap at my fiancé, George. She means no harm to your precious knight.” 

“Torturing him further will not shake me into surrendering my honour. He’s built and bred for hardship.”

“It seems we’ve already shaken you, though.”

A chair creaked as if someone were standing. “You know we have the power here, George. I could order Nikki to strangle the life from your knight right before your eyes and there wouldn’t be a single thing either of you could do to stop it.  _ Look _ at him.” Her voice deepened with sadistic amusement. “He’s barely able to keep himself conscious.” 

George did not answer. The sheep woman continued, “It’s nice to see him without that horrendous mask. Where did those scars come from? Precious lapdog met something he couldn’t yap at and scare away?”

_ I want to tear this room into bits with you in it. Fuck you. Fuck  _ all _ of you.  _

“Dream got those scars saving my life, and for that I will always respect him.” George’s footsteps neared until Dream could feel his presence within arm’s reach. “Let him and the rest of the knights you have hostage go free. In exchange, I will stay here as a prisoner.” 

_ “ No! ”  _

The words burnt like acid on Dream’s tongue. Blindly, he flung himself forward and felt his fingers collide with the material of George’s cape. All that managed to come out of his mouth was a weak wheeze that made the sheep woman cackle. “And the ram boy?” 

“Harmless. He’s not even thirteen. Phil and I would have taken shared control of his throne anyway.” 

“King Eret doesn’t usually take prisoners, George.” The sheep woman’s hooves clicked against the wooden floorboards as she moved closer, bringing with her a cloud of terror that threatened to slaughter the last bit of control Dream had over his own body. “Should you give yourself up as you propose, you could be dead within the hour. Is that what you want?”

_ No, no, no.  _ Dream’s fingers slid down the warm plushness of George’s cape, unable to get a solid grip.  _ Don’t do this to me, idiot. Don’t agree to this bullshit. _

“So long as I’m allowed to watch King Phil and the rest of our men leave your territory in peace. Once their safety is guaranteed to me, then I will lay down my life. Fair and square.” 

“No!” Dream rasped. A warm palm pressed against his cheek, agonizingly gentle, then began to push him away. Dream yanked himself closer, humiliation forgotten. One of his arms wrapped around George’s leg and the other found the hem of George’s pant leg and grabbed it too, clutching it like a lifeline. How pitiful he must have looked, swollen and bruised and desperate, but Dream could not bring himself to care.

“Your knight doesn’t seem to be a fan of your plan, King George,” said the sheep woman. “Perhaps he’d like to go down by your side?”

“I forbid it. He’s done his job well these many years. He deserves to live out his days in peace,” George replied smoothly. 

“He’s clutching your leg like a child. If he could speak, he’d be begging to die with his precious king.” The two women’s voices burst into sardonic laughter. “Why are you denying him a knight’s greatest honour, George? Why don’t you give him what he wants?”

“Because this is what is best.” George pulled himself from Dream’s grip and disappeared into the darkness. “I refuse to let my men suffer needlessly. Let them go free before this gas of yours does some permanent damage.” 

“As you command, Your Highness.” A set of hands grabbed Dream by the hair and wrenched him to his feet. “Any last words?” 

“Yes, actually,” George said softly. His footsteps neared once more, slow and gentle, and paused directly in front of him. The hands in Dream’s hair retreated and his knees buckled, sending him into a set of warm, steady arms. 

_ This can’t be the last time I’ll ever be with you.  _ Dream pressed his trembling hands to the back of George’s head and pulled him so close the corners of their lips were touching.  _ Say something,  _ he thought in despair, but he couldn’t force more than a low moan from his throat.  _ Don’t let him leave. Don’t let him do this.  _

“This is not me punishing you,” George whispered against his cheek. “Take care of the boys for me. I trust you.” 

A sob finally forced its way free from Dream’s throat.  _ You asshole. You can’t die like this. It’s not fair. _

“I hereby relinquish your role as my guard.” George pressed a long kiss to Dream’s cheekbone. “Thank you for protecting me all these years. It is my honour to let you go free.” 

“No,” Dream said hoarsely. Someone grabbed him by the hair and the back of his shirt and dragged him backwards. “No!  _ No! ”  _

“Go in peace, Dream,” George ordered.  _ How can he sound so unafraid?  _ “That is my last order to you. See it through with honour.” 

_ Honour be damned!  _ Dream wanted to shriek. The hands pulling him backwards were unrelenting in their brutality, seemingly unaffected by his struggling. His heels hit the threshold of the doorway and icy terror ripped through him like an arrow. “Geor—“ he tried to scream, only to have the pair of hands clap over his mouth and nose.  _They’ll make him suffer before they kill him. They’ll torture him for information._ He threw back a blind punch but hit nothing. His lungs were screaming for air. The hands holding him pushed him forward and he tumbled down a marble stairwell. _Y_ _ ou’re leaving him to spend his last moments alone and in agony.  _

“Release the prisoners and bring them outside, Jack,” came the pink-haired woman’s voice. “King George has surrendered.” 

“Really?” A distantly familiar voice replied. “That was easy.” 

“He’s a spineless coward.” The pink-haired woman delivered a swift kick to Dream’s side as she approached. “I’m not surprised at all. The Captain knew what she was doing.” 

“Bitch,” Dream spat. The pink-haired woman slammed his head into the nearby wall, sending a stab of agony through the slash in his hairline. The word tingled on his tongue like a boiling whiskey.  _ You people are barely human.  _

The pink-haired woman dragged him all the way to the castle doors. Before opening them, she bent down close to his ear and whispered a single phrase: 

_ “It’ll be nice to see him choke.”  _

Hearing the muffled sound of her nose break as his fist shattered the front of her gas mask sent a rush of desperate satisfaction upDream’s spine. 

“Oh,  _ you _ _—_ “ With a furious grunt, the pink-haired woman pushed the castle doors open and practically threw Dream onto the grass. He hit the ground face first, feeling the fresh air wash over him like a bucket of icy water. “King George has surrendered!” The pink-haired woman cried to the open air. “In exchange for his life, the men currently in our possession shall be set free.” 

She bent down, sinking one of her knees into Dream’s back. “Go run home, soldier boy,” she hissed. “I’ll make sure your king suffers for the stunt you pulled.” 

With one last blow to the back of his head, the weight of her knee upon his back lightened. Dream tried to stand but his knees buckled beneath him almost immediately. Someone landed beside him, their hands warm and strong, and picked him up into their arms. He could see the remains of the day’s orange sunlight through his swollen eyelids, feel its gentle warmth upon his face as he was lifted into the sky.

A breath of fresh air had never been so bittersweet.

~

“Ranboo?” 

Ranboo paused, resting the quill in his hands on the desk. “Yeah?”

Tubbo turned his head, letting the side of his face Ranboo could see be lit up with sunlight. “Come here. Let’s chat.” 

Ranboo nodded and rose to his feet, cracking his stiff hips as they protested painfully. He walked out onto Tubbo’s small balcony and stopped beside him, resting his elbows on the railing. Though Tubbo was barely taller than his bicep and had all the frightening qualities of a baby goat, the pensive seriousness on his face made Ranboo’s stomach twist.

“Look at Tommy,” Tubbo murmured, pointing a finger down into the courtyard below. Tommy sat on top of a capsized fighting dummy, surrounded by his moulted feathers. The remains of several more lay in pieces around him. “He’s been out there since his dad left to take my castle back.” 

It had been a near twelve hours since the patrol had left. Ranboo frowned. “We should go take him in. He’s probably freezing.” 

“He won’t go in.” Tubbo turned, leaning his back on the balcony railing. “Not until his dad comes home, I think.” 

_ He looks awful,  _ Ranboo thought with a stab of guilt. Leave it to him to get busy at the one time his friends actually needed him. “Why don’t we go and try anyway? He always agrees to hang with me if I tell him I need a second player for a board game.” 

“Can I ask you something, Ranboo?”

Ranboo paused. “Uh,” he started, but the rest of his sentence died on his tongue. Tubbo slid downwards until he was sitting, pulling his knees to his chest. Ranboo mimicked him, though he was so tall he had to scooch forward as to not hit his head on the railing. “Yeah. Of course.” 

“Will you help me be king?” 

The question hung in the air for several long moments. Tubbo reached up and rubbed at his broken horn, keeping his eyes trained in front of him. “Huh?” Ranboo said with a nervous chuckle.

“I mean it,” Tubbo said softly. “I can’t do it on my own. Everything’s changing so quickly.” 

“You’ll have King George and King Phil leading your country for you until you’re eighteen,” Ranboo said, placing a hand on Tubbo’s knee. “You won’t even need my help by the time you’re actually in charge.” 

“I  _ want _ your help.” Tubbo’s voice grew slightly louder. “You’ll be just like Technoblade to my dad. Someone who I can trust. You’d be able to make big decisions with me.”

Tommy’s angry shriek drifted up to their ears from down in the courtyard. Ranboo jolted, scrambling to stand, but Tubbo caught his hand and pulled him back. “Leave him. It’s better if he’s not interrupted when he’s like that.” 

The sound of splintering wood from below made it clear to Ranboo that another fighting dummy had just met its untimely end. “I wish I could help. I don’t like seeing you guys sad.”

Tubbo smiled softly, though there seemed to be an invisible weight upon him that curled his shoulders forward. “Sadness is part of a king’s life, Ranboo. People like to try and kill you and mess with the people you love.” 

“That’s messed up,” Ranboo said.

Tubbo pressed his face into his knees. “Yeah. I’m already pretty tired of it.” 

A breeze blew by them, sending a shiver down Ranboo’s spine. He’d never liked the cold. “I’ll help you when you’re king. We can get Tommy in with us too, so then we’ll be like three whole kings for one kingdom. It’ll be awesome.” 

“Yeah.” Tubbo scooched himself sideways until he was pressed up against Ranboo’s side. His horn poked into Ranboo’s shoulder hard enough to sting, but he didn’t care. “We’ll become so strong that nobody could ever kill us.” 

“Tommy’s already one step ahead. I heard he broke Dream’s nose a little while ago.” 

That made Tubbo truly giggle. “We’ll work on Tommy. He’s a little too wild right now to be a part of my kingly crew.” 

“I agree,” Ranboo smiled. He slid his tail around Tubbo’s back and pulled him closer. “I’ll try my best not to die, don’t worry. Worst comes to worst, I can always teleport away from any danger.” 

Something hit the railing with a resounding  _ thunk _ _,_ causing the two of them to jump. Tommy’s panting figure hopped off the railing and fell to his knees before them, grumbling under his breath. “Tommy?” Ranboo said quietly. Tommy didn’t reply. His tunic was ruffled and soaked with sweat, the knees of his pants blackened with dirt and melted snow. Ranboo turned to Tubbo, whose face had already sunk back into his usual serious gentleness. “Is he okay?” 

Tommy staggered into Tubbo’s room, face buried in his hands. He paused at the end of Tubbo’s bed, wrapped his wings around himself, and kicked off his shoes before crawling beneath the covers. “I need a nap,” was all he said. 

“The bed’s all yours,” Tubbo replied. “Ranboo and I were going to play some chess.” 

“Okay.” Tommy’s figure shifted until the only part of him visible was his head of tangled waves. “You guys can be loud and yell and shit if you want. It’s okay.” 

“Sounds good.” Tubbo rose to his feet, dusting dirt off the back of his pants. “Want to get the chessboard for me, Ranboo? It should be in one of my chest drawers.” 

At some point within their endless rounds of chess, amongst their laughter and shrieks of despair, Tommy shifted again. He put his pillow at the other end of the bed, just above where Ranboo and Tubbo sat on the floor, and untucked all the sheets and blankets so he could lay in the bed backwards. When Tubbo asked him why he’d moved, he responded with a mere, “I wanted to hear you guys better.” 

Ranboo winced as Tubbo gleefully took one of his bishops.  _ If he runs a country anything like how he plays chess, the Eretians won’t come within a million feet of him.  _

He wondered what Dream was doing at that moment.  _Probably something cool,_ he thought. _I hope he’s beating the shit out of an Eretian right now._

He probably wasn’t, but it tickled Ranboo to think about it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYOOO WE GOT A DOUBLE CHAPPY UPDATE TONIGHT WATCH OUT 
> 
> fun fact: I tell my boyfriend all abt this fic even though he knows nothing about mcyt and he encourages me and reads comments with me and that is why I would like to marry him thx 
> 
> Happy international women’s day! I purposefully made the smp ladies villains bc they deserve to go a little feral and evil. its what they deserve
> 
> also may I just say that Ranboo and Tubbo now own my heart after this most recent TOTSMP.... I love them 
> 
> Once again, thank you for all your comments and support! I don’t reply to all of the comments but I read and appreciate every single one ❤️ Please keep giving them to me I’m a clout whore and need it to survive
> 
> -Ophelia


	20. Getting Home

“What an odd man you are, George,” Said the sheep woman with a grin. “So noble and yet so cowardly. A true enigma.” 

She brandished a handsome dagger from her belt and passed it between her hands. George followed it with his eyes, keeping his expression neutral.  _I won’t give you the satisfaction of revelling in my fear._

“How does it feel to be without your guard?” The sheep woman strode forward and began to circle him, each click of her hooves against the floor a death knell in George’s ears. “He was practically raised to be your loyal pet. Did you pick him out yourself out of a line-up or did dear old Daddy present him to you with a bow around his neck?” 

“I can survive without him, just as he can survive without me,” George replied. 

The sheep woman let out a high cackle. “Just like you would have survived if he hadn’t been there the night I came for you? Please, King George. Don’t make me laugh.” 

George leaned back on his heels, gritting his teeth. The sheep woman put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair. “Don’t take it personally. You simply weren’t meant to be king. Think of this as King Eret taking a massive responsibility off your shoulders.” 

“I’ll make sure to thank him when he arrives in hell with me,” George replied. 

“Don’t be tart. We both know His Highness Eret is a superior king. They know what they want and they take it, simple as that.” 

“You murdered a poor boy’s father for no reason,” George hissed. The sheep woman clenched her fists. “King Schlatt would have handed his country over fair and square. That’s how we do things. You didn’t have to slaughter him.” 

“Stupid fucking games, you kings all play. Meaningless drivel.” The sheep woman stepped forward and pointed her blade up under George’s chin until it stung. “King Eret is frankly tired of it all.  _This_ is how it should be done. You take what you want to be yours and fight to keep it.” 

George would have rolled his eyes if there wasn’t a knife to his throat. “I apologize on behalf of all kings that we aren’t bloodthirsty maniacs like you are. I’m sure the world would be a much better place if we slaughtered each other at random without thought for their children or kingdoms.” 

“Don’t get cocky with—“ 

The door behind him burst open thunderously, startling the sheep woman into nearly dropping her knife. “Nikki, what—“ 

A hand grabbed George’s hair and yanked his head backwards with enough force to send him sprawling onto his back. The pink-haired woman leaned over him, eyes blazing furiously behind the shattered eye-holes of her mask, and sunk her fingers into the soft part of his jaw as she began to pull his mask up over his head. “Nikki!” The sheep woman cried in surprise. “What happened?” 

George managed to bat her hands away from his face long enough to pull the mask back over his stinging chin.  _ I don’t know how long the potion will last. I’ll be fucked if this gas gets into me.  _

“Give me your fucking mask!” The pink-haired woman shrieked. A trickle of blood dripped from a slit in the leather-like exterior of her mask. “I’m done with this asshole. I want him dead!” 

Her bloodstained hand wrapped around the nozzle and yanked upwards, dragging it over his mouth. George felt his tongue hit the air as he instinctively gasped and tasted sulphur. 

No pain. Not yet. 

But he couldn’t let them know that.

“That bastard broke my nose!” The pink-haired woman pulled the mask over the rest of George’s face, tearing a tuft of his hair out as it got snagged in one of the buckles. “My mask is shattered!” 

She drew in a shuddering breath and gagged, dropping George’s mask into her lap as her hands reached up to cover the leaks in her mask. The sheep woman, eyes wide, slipped her knife into her belt and dropped to her knees, helping her fiancé pull the broken mask off her bloodied face. In the chaos, George dropped to his side and curled into a ball, moaning into his hands. The air felt thick and clammy in his throat like an unpleasant fog and tingled as it hit his lips and ears, but whatever made the pink-haired woman wail in pain as the air hit her broken nose had been nullified for the time being by the potion.  _ Bless you, Dad,  _ George thought as he sucked in a long breath.  _ I might actually get out of here alive thanks to you.  _

“This is the fault of your knight!” The pink-haired woman seethed, gasping for air as the sheep woman pulled the mask over her mouth. “His ego has damned you to a painful death!”

George fought to keep the ghost of a smile off his mouth and forced out a hacking cough.  _That’s the Dream I know. Can’t leave without getting the last blow._

Once her mask had been properly tightened to her face and the ragged rising and falling of her chest had given way to slow, furious breathing, the pink-haired woman advanced on George on all fours. She grabbed him by both shoulders and flipped him onto his back, bending down close until the nozzle of her gas mask pressed against his cheek. George screwed his eyes shut, even as the woman dug her hands into the flesh of his face. “You aren’t crying yet? I’m surprised,” she murmured. “You don’t seem like someone who can handle pain.” 

“Pain is part of a king’s life.” George tried to mimick the raspiness of the woman’s voice. Though he couldn’t feel the pain of the air itself, his throat and lips became more and more dry and itchy by the second. “I welcome it with pride.” 

The woman slammed her fist down on his chest, making him gasp. “I was happy to let you pass in peace like that drunkard Schlatt, but I think it’d be good for your precious knight to know you suffered a little before you died.” She unsheathed a dagger no bigger than her middle finger from a small pocket in her belt. “King’s life, huh?”

George forced his thumping heart to slow and gritted his teeth. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” 

“Don’t make me laugh.” The pink haired woman breathed a quiet chuckle. “I know you’re scared.”

_ I am, but not for the reason you think.  _

Something exploded below them, shaking the windows. The sheep woman snarled. “Cannons. Those assholes.” 

“It doesn’t matter!” Said the pink-haired woman. “They can’t come near us with our gas. Let them shatter our windows all they want.” 

The sheep woman crossed the room and peered out one of the windows. She started violently. “They’re coming in!” 

George’s heart leapt.  _ Thank the gods.  _

“How?” Cried the pink-haired woman. “Do they have masks?” 

“No, they—“ the sheep woman ducked as a stone flew through the window, spilling broken glass over the floor. “Shit!” 

Agony burst along the underside of George’s jaw. “Where’s your honour now?” The pink-haired woman hissed as she dragged her blade across the top of his throat. Her voice was low and raspy, barely audible over the sound of the sheep woman screaming orders out the shattered window. “You said you’d give your life up fair and square.”

George hit his tongue and stretched out his fingers as warmth spilled down his throat, earning a low giggle from the pink-haired woman. His hand closed around the sharp edges of a nearby glass shard. “We’re playing by your rules now,” he growled. “We’re fighting for what we want.”

With a grunt, he thrust his upper body upwards, bashing into the pink-haired woman’s body. He grabbed a fistful of her hair in one hand and dragged her head sideways, slicing a long slash in the cheek of her gas mask with the glass shard. Another rock flew through one of the opposite windows and hit the the back of the woman’s neck, stunning her long enough for George to wriggle out from under her and take off down the hall. The slit in his neck throbbed with the movement of his body, streaming blood down the front of his tunic until he was completely red from neck to wrist to belt-line. Soldiers from both armies pushed by him as he sprinted down the curved staircase, so engrossed in the chaos of the moment that they didn’t even recognize him. 

“Sam!” George screamed. “Phil!” 

He reached the castle doors and paused, panting wildly. Dozens of soldiers fought in the main foyer, mere blurs of armour and fists and glinting metal. A flash of green caught his eyes as Sam, practically glimmering in his armour, hurled a man straight into the wall with a single thrust of his powerful wings. 

A burst of hot pain in the back of his throat made it clear he didn’t have long before the potion ran out. Ducking beneath a low-flying soldier as he soared across the hall, George climbed his way up onto one of the shattered windowsills. He kicked away as much of the glass as he could and slid through the uneven hole left in the glass, unbuttoning his cape halfway through when it caught on too many jagged pieces. The fresh air hit him like a shot of hard alcohol as he thrust his head outside.  _ I’m alive. I’m free.  _

His ankles protested painfully as he hopped into the small garden and snuck his way through the towering square hedges. Phil’s army was in full swing, flying and fighting everywhere George looked in methodical madness. Phil himself came whizzing over George’s head and took out half a dozen Eretian soldiers with his wingspan as they came scattering out another one of the shattered windows. Arrows flew from every direction, catching in the sunlight like fireballs. Another cannon boomed, ringing in George’s ear. 

_So this is where you were happiest, Dad. A battlefield._ George saw the back of a familiar bandana amongst the medics near the tree line and felt his heart skip.  _I have to admit, it’s quite fun when you’re the army winning._

He took a running start and sprinted down the battlefield, keeping his head low as to not be noticed. Powered by his adrenaline, he made it to the medic patrol in what felt like seconds and threw himself to his knees among them. “I’m alive!” He cried. “I’m alive!”

“King George!” 

Sapnap appeared beside him and wrapped him in a bear-like hug. His face, like Dream’s, was red and swollen from the effects of the gas and he stank of sulphur. “You’re alive!” 

He pulled back, hands on George’s shoulders, and his blotchy face dropped. “Your throat!” He shrieked, grabbing the sleeve of a nearby medic. “You’re covered in blood!”

George raised a tentative hand to the slice under his chin and couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of him. “It’s not deep!” He exclaimed, even as two medics swarmed him with bandages and healing potions. “I’m okay!” 

Sapnap half-coughed, half-laughed into his hands. “I thought you were dead! They said you gave up your life!” He said, kneading at his swollen eyes with his fingers. 

A medic pushed a healing potion into his hands and George downed it in a single gulp.  _ The melony taste is growing on me.  _ “Thank whoever’s idea it was to start throwing rocks through the windows. They saved my ass.” 

Sapnap’s mouth dropped open. “That was me!” He pumped his fists in the air triumphantly. “I did that!” 

He pulled George in for another hug and squeezed him tightly. “Dream’s going to be in debt to me until he’s eighty for this.” 

_Dream_.  George started. “Where is Dream?” He scanned around them but saw nothing but medics hustling over unfamiliar soldiers. “Is he okay?” 

Sapnap’s face sobered. “King Phil basically threw him into one of the carriages and sent him home with a couple of the soldiers from our patrol that got injured the worst. He... wasn’t doing too well, from what I heard.” 

“You didn’t see him?” George said.

“I went straight back into battle with Sam once I was let free. Barely got a glimpse of him as he was carried away.” 

_ He thinks I’m dead.  _ A pit formed in George’s stomach.  _ He thinks I’m being tortured because of him. _

“George?” Sapnap said. “Are you alright?” 

George lifted his hand and dragged a finger along the healing line on his throat. It felt like Dream’s scars. “Give me something to do,” he ordered. “Let’s take this fucking castle back and get home.” 

Sapnap took a moment to process what he said. Then, a smile crossed his flushed cheeks. “Roger that, soldier! Let’s go!” 

~ 

Tommy’s father had been gone for approximately seventeen hours and forty minutes. 

In other words, Tommy had been spiralling for approximately seventeen hours and forty minutes. 

He’d tried to go to his brothers. Emphasis on  _tried_.  Technoblade was never one to provide much comfort in times of need; he was stoic and awkward and too much like Phil for Tommy to even want to go near him. His ways of comfort were gentle pats on the back or polite hugs given once the issue itself had already been resolved by someone else. Fuck, usually Tommy couldn’t even find him if he tried. Like his father before him, Techno had become a master at covert Tommy-avoidance and could disappear form sight for days on end before showing up at dinner like nothing had happened.

Tommy knew Techno loved him. Whether or not he liked him was a different story.

Wilbur, however, had always been the one to fill the holes Tommy’s father left. He was the one to pick him up when he cried, to let him crawl into his bed on nights his brain wouldn’t slow down. He was the one who could get through to him during his rage attacks, who didn’t get mad if Tommy ripped out a tuft of his feathers or destroyed a book he liked. Wilbur was available,  _ always  _ available. 

And yet, Tommy couldn’t bring himself to open his brother’s bedroom door. 

Perhaps that was because he knew how much his issues weighed on his brother’s shoulders, how little sleep he got on the nights Tommy slept in bed with him because he moved about all night and needed to be held still in order to sleep. Perhaps it was because he saw the way Wilbur looked at Phil and Technoblade laughing together over dinner and scowled ever so slightly. Perhaps it was because he knew Wilbur’s feathers weren’t growing back as quickly as they used to.

Wilbur wasn’t a father. He was seventeen years old, barely done figuring himself out. The last thing he needed was Tommy hanging off his side. 

So, for the first time ever, Tommy left Wilbur to sleep and made his way up to his room alone.

The castle was empty without the bustle of knights and medics. Without the constant excitement of having King George and his friends around, the halls felt sapped of any life. Tubbo was downstairs with Ranboo, probably playing chess or something. Tubbo really liked chess. He’d played about a dozen games a day since he’d heard the news about his dad. 

The news that made him king.

Tommy dragged his feet along the carpet, rubbing at his face with his hands. Fuck, where  _were_ they? How long did it take to stab a couple assholes and take a castle over? 

_Maybe he’s dead. Something went wrong and he’s dead._ An electric shiver ran across Tommy’s brain.  _He’s dead and you’ll never get to say goodbye because you wouldn’t open your door for him that morning._

Tommy groaned into his fingers.  _ No. That’s fucking stupid and it didn’t happen. You know that.  _

Tubbo probably thought that same thing when his castle was invaded. That his father wouldn’t die because he  _ couldn’t,  _ because him being his dad somehow made him immune to swords and battles and having one’s head chopped off or however the fuck a king was killed. Perhaps King George thought something similar when his dad had become sick. 

He didn’t notice he’d been itching frantically at his wings until his fingernail caught on a scab and ripped it off, sending a trickle of blood down his feathers. Tommy paused, then breathed long and slow in his nose and out his mouth, just like Wilbur had told him to. In, out. In, out. In, out.

It didn’t help. Not one bit.

Tommy ran the rest of the way to his room and threw himself onto his bed, burying his face in his pillows. He wanted Wilbur. He wanted his dad. Fuck, he’d be happy with fucking _Technoblade_ if he walked in at that moment.  Anything to not be alone, when all he had was his thoughts to keep him company. His dumb, stupid thoughts, which never made sense and always felt like they were on the verge of spilling right out of his body like one of those bubbling potions he would watch Techno make in the infirmary. His thoughts never listened to him.  _Nobody_ ever listened to him. 

He fell asleep like that, curled on top of his covers with his wings wrapped around him. When he finally woke to the buzz of voices downstairs, the air felt thick and awkward. His tongue was dry, and when he scooted himself off his bed, he realized one of his feet had fallen asleep.  _ Great.  _

To his immense yet muted relief, one of the first people Tommy saw as he stumbled into the infirmary was his father, alive and warm and moving. “Great job, men!” He bellowed, wiping sweat from his brow as he dumped an armful of empty potion bottles into the sink. His wings were ruffled and dirty and spotted with what Tommy swore was blood, but they opened nonetheless when he saw Tommy hovering in the doorway. “Tommy!” He exclaimed.

There was the pit in his stomach again, heavy and painful. It made him want to puke. “You stink,” he forced out, scrunching his nose.

Phil’s face fell. “It’s been a long day. Why aren’t you in bed?”

_ Because I haven’t slept in my own bed all week and have probably lost the ability to sleep alone altogether,  _ Tommy thought with a bristle. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said after a moment of silence. “You guys took a long time.” 

“It’s a battle, Tommy. This was a relatively short one, too.” Phil ran a hand through his tangled hair. “Let’s go upstairs and get ready for bed.” 

Tommy found his limbs to have turned to stone. He stayed planted where he was, even as his father moved past him and began down the hall. It was only when Phil turned back to him with a raised eyebrow did Tommy’s limbs regain the ability to move. Up the familiar staircase they went in utter silence, with Tommy staying safely out of reach of his father’s wings. He couldn’t be closer, couldn’t allow Phil to potentially stick out a wing and pull him closer; that would be weird and awkward and  _ bad _ and he didn’t like that. Too much was already bad. 

He tried not to focus on his dad’s frown as they walked. He tried really hard.

The fireplace in Phil’s room was already lit and roaring when they arrived. Tommy made a beeline for it immediately and stood with his back to it, letting it blaze against the back of his trousers. It felt glorious. 

His peace, however, was short-lived. Phil cleared his throat. “We made it. Tubbo’s castle is officially ours.” 

Such good news shouldn’t have sent that much panic into Tommy’s veins. “Cool,” he said. Phil frowned again as he shrugged off his robe. “Did anyone die?” 

“Tommy,” his father replied with a hint of sharpness. “Don’t be morbid.” 

“It’s a battle,” Tommy retorted. “People die.”

“Nobody died tonight, but King George came pretty damn close. He gave up his life to save a patrol of our men that had been taken hostage in the castle. The only reason we got him out is because of his own genius little trick.”

Tommy’s chest tightened. “He sacrificed himself?” 

Phil pulled a long nightshirt on and stretched his wings out until they trembled. “He’s a king, Tommy. That’s what kings do.” 

“Would you have done the same?” 

“Of course I would have. Especially to save someone I loved.” 

Tommy’s throat was closing.  _ No,  _ he begged internally.  _ Not here, not now.  _

But the door across the room was closed and Tommy’s feet had already begun to root to the floor, frozen when he tried to move. Face pinched into a frown, his father turned away and pulled the crown off his tangled hair. He didn’t notice him, not yet, but Tommy knew he  _ would _ and then he’d ask questions and get that awful frightened look on his face that he always got when Tommy was upset and it would all be so  _ horrible _ _._ Tommy forced himself to breathe, in and out, over and over, but as seconds ticked by like hours and the sound of his own heartbeat began to boom in his ears like a church bell, he wondered if it would be more worth it to just tip back and let himself be consumed by the flames roaring behind him.

“ _ Tommy! _ ” 

His father’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. He stank of something sharp and metallic but Tommy hugged him back anyway, burying himself in the crook of his father’s neck. The tears came a second later, hot and heavy down his cheeks. He could barely breathe. Slowly, Phil maneuvered the both of them to a sitting position, keeping a steady hand on the back of Tommy’s head. “It’s okay,” he crooned. “You’re alright, Tommy. You’re alright.” 

“Why did you hit me, Dad?” The question left his lips as though it has a mind of its own. “Why?” 

It was a stupid question and Tommy knew it. Phil froze, breath stopping in his throat. Tommy bunched his hands in the material of his father’s nightshirt and sobbed until he had no more breath.  _ He hit you because you deserved to be hit. Because you’re a fucking maniac.  _

“It was an awful mistake, Tommy. I lashed out in a moment of pain,” Phil said in a shaky whisper. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I didn’t mean what I said! I promise!” 

“I know. I know.” Phil’s fingers carded themselves into Tommy’s hair and began to move in small circles against his scalp. “You were hurting too.” 

_Tubbo would kill to have his dad be holding him right now._ Another bubbling sob forced its way out of Tommy’s mouth. His throat felt raw.  _ He wants what you’ve been pissing away all this time more than anything.  _

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Tommy whimpered. “Nothing makes sense.” 

“You’re still growing up,” his father replied. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

“Yes there is! Technoblade hates me! He avoids me!” 

“He doesn’t—“ Phil pulled back and pointed a finger at him. His eyes were wet and shining. “Don’t you ever say that. Techno loves you more than anything.” 

“It doesn’t feel like it!” Tommy’s voice had risen to a grating shriek but the burn felt good. “He knows I’m all fucked up! Wilbur does too!” 

“You’re Wilbur’s best friend!” 

_Are you?_ Hissed the unspoken voice behind his father’s words.  _ Are you? Or have I been wrong all these years?  _

“Wilbur’s had to play dad for so long that I think he’s started to hate me too!”

Something within Tommy snapped and he wrenched himself from his father’s arms, bending his face to the floor. “All — all fucking three of you hate me!” He screamed. “I know you do! You’re all shit at hiding it!” 

Phil’s mouth dropped open. _“_ _ Tommy! ”  _

Tommy wanted to run, to be  _anywhere_ else but there, but his legs were frozen. He felt as though he’d just puked up all his organs, leaving his body an empty shell with nothing inside. 

Meanwhile, his father looked like someone had just punched a fist through his ribcage and torn his heart straight out of his chest. 

Tommy pulled his wings in around him. They smelt of sweat and blood. “I’m going to bed now,” he whispered, forcing himself up onto his knees. “Goodnight, Dad.” 

“Stay, Tommy.” Phil’s voice was no more than a trembling whisper. “Please.” 

“I’m going to Wilbur’s room.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re staying here.” 

“I  _ want _ to go to Wilbur’s room.” 

“I don’t want you going to his room anymore. You can come to me now, anytime. I don’t care how busy I am.” Phil sat back on his knees and outstretched his arms. The tear tracks down his face looked like glimmering festival paint in the light of the fire. “I’m so sorry, Tommy. I’ll make this right.  _ Let _ me make this right.” 

Tommy closed his eyes scooted back into his father’s arms. “I’m glad you made it home safe, Dad.” 

Phil kissed the top of Tommy’s head and stifled a sob into his hair. “I’m glad too,” he whispered. “Do you want to sleep in here tonight?”

“Yeah.” 

_ I’m still hurting.  _ Tommy felt his father’s arms slide beneath his knees and under his wings.  _ Something’s changed, but I can’t tell if it was for the better or not.  _

Phil lifted him into his arms and walked away from the fire’s gentle glow. A moment later, Tommy felt himself be placed onto his father’s bed and tucked beneath a heavy blanket.

“I have to clean my wings,” Phil said softly. “You go ahead and rest. I’ll be right here with you.” 

“I love you, Dad.” Tommy breathed a sigh.  _ Please don’t let this just be for tonight. I can’t go back to the way things were.  _

“I love you too, Tommy. I’m sorry.” 

It took mere minutes for the smell and warmth and sound of his father rustling around in the bathroom to lull Tommy to sleep.

~

George pressed on the infirmary door with two fingers. It creaked open easily. 

“I had to sedate him,” Technoblade said from behind him. What might have been shame weighed heavy on his words. “He was violent with the nurses.”

“It’s alright. I’ll take care of him now,” George said. He swallowed, feeling the half-healed tissue on his throat pull uncomfortably. “All I ask for is some privacy.” 

“Of course. I’ll be up in my father’s office if you need me.” 

George closed his eyes and tried to focus on Technoblade’s retreating footsteps, but he moved lighter on his feet than a ghost.  _What an odd man._ _He truly is his brother’s antithesis._

The infirmary was dark as he walked in, the air slightly cool without any candles to keep it warm. The air stank of sulphur. 

A single figure lay in the small bed, curled so tightly into himself that he looked no bigger than a teenager. 

George placed a hand on Dream’s side. He was warm. 

“Dream?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE UPLOAD BITCHES
> 
> we hit 20k hits!!! Thank you all so much!!! 
> 
> keep it up (threat) 
> 
> this chapter hurt to write but fun fact! I have experienced tear gas before and based the dragon’s breath off of it :) tear gas rly hurts and I don’t like it 
> 
> I haven’t even started the next chapter yet but oh boy I have plans,,, it’s gonna be big,,, and painful,,, (like Dream’s face sfkfjdkh) 
> 
> -Ophelia


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